


ACOMAF - Rhysand's Perspective - Part 4

by OtterlyWasted



Series: ACOMAF - Rhysand's Perspective [4]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Prythian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 05:50:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19078765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtterlyWasted/pseuds/OtterlyWasted
Summary: WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.This Section:Ch. 1 - Rhysand's unsuccessful attempt to take Feyre to the Bone CarverCh. 2 - Rhysand's successful attempt to take Feyre to the Bone CarverCh. 3 - Debriefing the family and making plansCh. 4 - Cassian and Rhysand have it out (New Scene)Ch. 5 - Rhysand dreams of his mother and preps Feyre to visit the WeaverCh. 6 - Rhysand takes Feyre to the Weaver ***TRIGGER WARNING*** (Mention of noncon/forced - memory of Amarantha)I hope you all enjoy!*Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.





	1. They'll Be The Death of Me

I was up before the sun crested the mountains, tired of my swirling thoughts. I dressed in my form fitting Illyrian leathers, then sat down on the end of my bed to tug on and tie up the laces of my boots. I went back to my armoire and opened the doors, peering down at a wrapped bundle resting on the bottom shelf. My mouth went dry as I reached in and pulled it out, a jittery sort of anxiety and excitement coursing through my body at the reality of what Feyre and I would be doing today.

The Bone Carver. 

An entity at least as old as the world. Malevolent and yet… not. Powerful, equal to that of Amren, or at least what Amren had been before she became trapped in her current form. And full of ancient, terrible knowledge.

And we two broken souls were going to go ask him questions.

I exhaled a long, low breath. _Feyre_. 

Today was not going to be pleasant for her, in any kind of capacity. Today I would ask her to push herself hard, physically, mentally and emotionally. The Prison would be a trial. The Bone Carver though, I knew he was going to ask her questions that would force her to face truths about herself that she had been running away from for months. That was one of the reasons I was taking her to face him – I needed the answers he had, yes, but I needed her to try and accept what happened, not just cringe away from it. She needed to accept the horror of it and begin to move past it. Because she would never recover unless she could do that – all the purpose in the world would not save her from the darkness inside her unless she could embrace it and grow from it.

Tucking the bundle up under my arm, I made my way out of my room and into the hallway, pausing beside her door for a few minutes and listening. I heard nothing – and I extended a tendril of darkness to ensure there wasn’t a bubble around her room again, shielding in her screams. The realization of that last night had horrified me more than the nightmare itself – what if she had been attacked, and in her panic shielded herself and no one could hear her cry for help? The bond between us was the only thing that had let me know at all. There was no bubble now though, and she seemed to be sleeping peacefully for once. I wanted to open her door and check on her, to see her sleep peacefully just once, a memory to carry with me for the rest of my life… but I would not invade her privacy like that, not unless there was just cause.

Leaving her door, I made my way down the stairs, heading towards the kitchen. Nuala and Cerridwen were already at work, I swore sometimes it seemed as though those two never slept. They were always at work in the kitchens or around the house – and I was heartily grateful for all their hard work, especially now with Feyre here. I had the feeling that Feyre liked them and was comforted by their quiet manner.

They looked up as I entered and smiled at me. “Good morning my Lord,” Cerridwen said, while Nuala stepped around to put the kettle on the stove – I must have looked bad if she did it without asking if I wanted tea first.

I smiled at them in turn, “Good morning. When Feyre wakes up, will you help her dress in this today?”

I hefted the bundle for them to see and Cerridwen walked around to relieve me of it, tilting her head curiously, “Of course my Lord. Would you like us to fix you something to eat right now?”

I shook my head, “No, thank you, though tea would be greatly appreciated, as strong as you can brew it.”

Nuala chuckled, “Of course, we’ll bring it out to you in a minute.”

I nodded my thanks and headed back down the hallway into the sitting room. Walking over to the small table in front of the windows at the front of the room I sat down and summoned several sheets of paper and a pen in front of me. Leaning forward I began to work on a draft of a letter I would need to send soon – I knew any response for it would take a while and the sooner it was off the better.

Cerridwen came out a little later with a tea tray, setting it on the table in front of me and then headed back into the kitchen while I poured a cup of tea so dark it reminded me of Azriel’s shadows. I heavily sweetened my cup of tea, expecting it would bitter and sure enough it almost puckered my mouth – but I soon felt more awake.

Not long after I heard the quiet creak of Feyre’s bed, and Nuala making her way upstairs. I scratched a sentence out on the draft I was working on and waited until I heard Feyre’s door open for a second time. Setting my pen down, I stood up and walked to the threshold of the sitting room and looked up as Feyre reached the top of the stairs and stared down at me.

I swallowed once.

I had ordered a set of Illyrian leathers made up for Feyre months ago out of… hope. Just that. I wasn’t really convinced she would ever actually wear them, but if she did agree to work with me, I wanted a set of them ready to go for her.

Seeing her now, wrapped in the dark, form fitting leather, the edges trimmed with fur, straps wrapped around her arms and thighs to ensure the fit remained snug. Though even with the straps it was loose, she was so much thinner than she had been when I first ordered these made, but they were still… sexy. How was it she made an outfit I had worn most of my life, that I had seen Mor and Amren wear and never thought twice about, look sexy? I couldn’t stop my eyes from tracing how the straps curved around her inner thighs, or the way the leather hugged her hips. My mouth was dry, and I was certain I was just gaping at her.

She just stared at me with confusion, “What? Do I have it on wrong? Nuala said this was right.”

I let out a low rasping breath and shook my head to clear it, “No… no that’s right.” Swallowing I gestured to the dining room, “We should eat, the trip through the Prison will take several hours.”

She continued to stare at me in for a minute or two, but finally headed into the dining room as Cerridwen came down the hallway carrying a tray of food. I followed after Feyre, letting her choose where she wanted to sit, and then sitting opposite of her and hoped I could manage not to stare like an idiot through the meal, or for the rest of the day for that matter. Cerridwen placed the bountiful tray of food down between us, and Nuala came in behind her with plates and cutlery. Feyre smiled her thanks at them before beginning to fill her plate with food.

I mimicked her, and we ate in comfortable silence for several minutes, the scrape of our forks and knives the only sounds in the room. Then Feyre paused, refusing to look at me as she said quietly, “Thank you, Rhys… for last night.”

I looked at her, a little surprised that she brought it up at all, but smiled, “Any time.” I told her, with heartfelt honesty – though she still wouldn’t look at me. The set of her shoulders relaxed however, and she resumed tucking into her food.

Nuala came back in shortly, bearing another tray of tea and cups and setting them down for us. I leaned over to pour us both a cup of tea, adding milk to Feyre’s before handing it to her; she nodded her head in thanks and took it without further comment. Watching her I realized that I loved the look she wore on her face when she drank her first cup of tea – it was pure bliss. Her eyes would half close as she held the cup to her lips, pursing her lips to blow air over it lightly, the steam curling up around her face, over her nose and into her hair, and then she would take her first sip and let out a low sigh…

Somehow, she took such a simple, almost mundane act and made it purely sensual. I felt my heart race and my breathing start to hitch and I had to look down and focus on my plate for several long minutes.

“I assume…” She began quietly, forcing me to look up at her and let out a sigh of relief that she had put her cup down and was cutting up some fruit on her plate, “that this choice of clothing is indicative of where we’re going?”

I managed a smile, “Yes and no. Where we’re going isn’t inherently dangerous, though there are dangerous creatures inside, but they are restrained quite securely. However, should a situation arrive it's best to be dressed in a way that won’t hinder any form of fight or flight. Literally.”

She rolled her eyes at my play on words and I smiled a little broader.

“These outfits are something all Illyrian warriors wear, and they have been designed to withstand a beating, and we’ve adopted them as our unofficial uniform for dangerous situations. Even Amren and Mor have a set they wear when necessary.”

Another lapse of silence, I watched her continue to eat – replacing the nutrition she lost to her nightmare last night.

She glanced up at me, and there was no fear in her eyes as she asked me, “What do you need to me to do today?”

I smiled a little, “I need you to be the lure. You will intrigue him. You will need to ask him the questions.” 

She frowned a little, as though confused as to why she would intrigue anyone. Her next words confirmed that, “Why?”

Quirking a brow at her, “You are unique Feyre. Yes, there are two other beings in the world that have been Made, but you are the first fully mortal human to be made fae… ever. You will intrigue him.”

She dropped her gaze, her face colored by disbelief, but she didn’t argue. I wanted to reach over and tilt her chin up and make her believe how unique, and special and wonderful she was. My fingers tingled to touch her again, and I remembered what it had felt like to hold her hair last night, to stroke my fingers over her back…

“Is he dangerous?” I came back to myself at her question, she hadn’t looked back up at me yet and was toying with her fork.

Uncrossing my arms, I rested my forearms on the table and let out a breath, “Yes, but we will be safe if you remember three very simple rules. The first of which is that you are to never, _never_ lie. You can choose not to answer a question, that is your right – though he might not answer yours in kind, but you must never lie.”

I waited to continue until she looked up at me again and I studied her eyes, to make sure she understood how serious this rule was, and she nodded in silent understanding.

“Never give him something unless you will receive something of equal value. He craves knowledge, information, and he will take you for everything you have, unless you set the ground rules. An answer for an answer.” She nodded again, understanding. “Be specific in what you ask him – being too general will give him the freedom to answer broadly. It’s a game to him, and you can’t let him dictate the rules or the outcome. Do not be rude but be precise.”

Another nod, another moment of silence as she thought about what I said. “What do you need me to ask him? What information are we looking for?”

I reached up to rub the back of my neck lightly, and let out another sigh, “We need to know how someone might be able to bring back Jurian without a body – all they have is the finger bone and the eye; if it is even possible. If it is, we need details on how he would do it, and if there is a way to stop it. If you can think of any other good questions to ask, feel free – but remember Feyre, it’s an answer for an answer, so ask those ones I just mentioned first.”

Another nod, another moment of silence before she asked, quieter than before, “What… what will he ask me?”

I think maybe she knew. Or guessed. Amren had given her part of the clue last night, _an immortal with a mortal soul._ Feyre had said it about herself before, the last time we had talked, Under the Mountain – but Amren had tied it to the Bone Carver. So yes, I think she guessed, but I would not lie to her – I wanted her to face what had happened Under the Mountain, but I would not make her go unprepared.

I met her gaze, unflinching, and answered, “He will ask about your death.”

I saw her muscles tense, the corner of her eyes tightening, but she did not flinch. She nodded and asked her last question, “When do we leave?”

I lifted my napkin and sat it on the table before standing, “We leave now – I only need to do one thing first.” I gestured for her to follow as I walked back into the sitting room and picked up my sheets of paper, then led her to a door on the other side of the room that led to my study.

I didn’t use it often, when I had a lot of paperwork to attend to, I tended to do it up at the House of Wind, preferring to keep my house separate from my work as much as possible. However, there were times it was convenient to have an office here, and it did afford me more privacy.

Stepping around my desk I pulled out a finer sheet of paper than I had scratched my draft onto, the emblem of the Night Court embossed on the top center of the page – a mountain with three stars. Still standing, I leaned over and penned the short but polite message I had come up with, requesting the privilege to visit the Summer Court at their earliest convenience.

Feyre shifted and asked curiously, “Who are you writing to?”

I glanced up at her and smiled, “The Summer Court.”

Looking back down, I signed my name at the bottom, then folded the sheet of paper in thirds. Reaching across my desk I opened a wood box and pulled out a pre-made wax seal with the matching Night Court emblem on it. Pressing the seal onto the outer edge of the paper, I brushed a tendril of my darkness across the underside of it and ‘glued’ the seal onto the letter. My signature of power, holding the seal in place, would be proof of the letter’s validity.

Standing up again, I looked over at Feyre, and saw her brows furrowed. I arched a brow at her in question.

She let out a breath, “Why?” 

I chuckled and deflected lightly, “Improving diplomatic relations.”

She frowned at me and I grinned playfully.

Reaching down I picked up the letter, and winnowed it to Amren, waiting until I felt her receive it. Amren would ensure the letter was delivered through proper channels – everything by the book. With that step completed, I gestured at the drafts on my table, causing them to disappear. Stepping around the desk to move to her side I looked down at her, and smiled reassuringly, “Are you ready?”

She studied my eyes for a moment, then nodded.

Releasing a grip on my darkness, I felt the weight of my wings take form behind me, causing her eyes to widen as she examined them appreciatively. Lifting a hand, I snapped my fingers, and across my back my sword harness appeared with dual Illyrian swords sheathed, and across both thighs a harness holding a row of daggers sheathed. Her already wide eyes only widened further as she took me in.

I held out my hand to her – letting her choose. 

Without hesitation, she reached up and took my hand and stepped willingly into the reach of my arms, a realization that made my heart skip a beat. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I drew my darkness up and swirled it around us both, sending us across the world until we came to land on the side of a cliff of a lonely island. Sliding my arms from around her, she stepped back and turned, and froze at the sight of the mountain.

The sight in front of us was pretty enough, a steep grassy slope leading to a large, flat topped mountain. Behind and beneath us the dark sea tossed violently against the high cliffs we now perched on. Wisps of mist curled around our calves, hugging the dew damp grass beneath us. Where Velaris had been bright and sunny, this place was cold and overcast, the clouds hanging low, pressing down on the mountain peak above us. Pretty, but there was something about the island that felt… ancient. Ancient and secretive, it made the hairs on the back of my neck raise – and though I had been here before, it was always the same. 

I kept my eyes on her however and prayed. _Cauldron… give her strength._

Her still form was tense as she took it all in, quiet and withdrawn. “Where are we?” She asked in a near whisper. 

I glanced from her to the mountain, “On an island in the heart of the Western Isles. And that,” I said as I raised an arm to point at the mammoth mountain in front of us, “is the Prison.”

Dropping my arm, I looked back at her and could see her lips were pale, and my heart constricted. “I don’t see anything,” she said quietly.

“The rock is the Prison. And inside it are the foulest, most dangerous creatures and criminals you can imagine.” I would not lie to her, if she was to do this, she would know the truth. “This place,” I continued to explain to her, “was made before High Lords existed. Before Prythian was Prythian. Some of the inmates remember those days. Remember a time when it was Mor’s family, not mine, that ruled the North.” 

She still hadn’t moved, but she also hadn’t asked to leave. It was a start.

“Why won’t Amren go in here?”

I shrugged my shoulders, “Because she was once a prisoner.” 

She swallowed once, “Not in that body, I take it.”

I smiled coldly, without humor, “No. Not at all.” 

She shivered. With cold or fear or both, I wasn’t sure. “The hike will get your blood warming,” I told to her, “since we can’t winnow inside or fly to the entrance – the wards demand that visitors walk in. The long way.”

I felt the panic in her now, until this moment she had distracted herself with trivial questions, but now she was facing the reality of going in, going under another mountain. The panic was clawing its way up through her, and down the bond, I could hear her breathing hitch, her heart racing. “I-“ she tried to speak, the word choking in her throat.

 _Mother… please… don’t let her break._ I prayed as ardently as I had ever prayed for anything.

Leaning towards her I spoke quietly, “It’s helps the panic, to remind myself that I got out. That we all got out.”

A shudder ran through her as she whispered, “Barely.”

I swallowed then said calmly, “We got out. And it might happen again if we don’t go inside.”

I watched her, watched as it looked as though she was trying to take a step, trying to force herself forward… _Please…_ I prayed.

“Please,” she echoed my prayer, and her plea was so broken I knew exactly what she was asking without even seeing the tears in her eyes. I shifted to stand in front of her, blocking her sight of the mountain and wrapped my arms around her, feeling her bone deep shudders beneath my hands. Without a word I winnowed us back to Velaris, to the town house, right in front of the door to her bedroom. She pushed out of my arms and fumbling with the door to her room, stumbled inside, shoving the door closed behind her. 

I stood there, in the hallway, staring at her door for long minutes, my arms so empty and my heart dying a slow, painful death as the horror of what I had just done to her took root inside of me. I realized, after a few minutes, that I was trembling, body and soul.

_Feyre._

_What… what had I done. To her. Oh… oh gods_.

The panic I had felt down the bond only moments before was gone, and in its place was the deadly silence that I had once felt from her before, when she was at the Spring Court – the silence that had scared me so deeply that used to pull on the bond just to make sure she was still alive. I realized now what it meant. She had shut down completely.

I had done that to her. Me. Not Tamlin. _Me_.

The tears sprang hard to my eyes and my breathing hitched.

“High Lord?”

I spun and saw Nuala standing in the hallway, a pile of linens in her hands, her dusty features drawn in concern.

Staring at her I swallowed back my tears, I refused to let them fall. I could not show weakness.

Raising a hand, I gestured for silence and led her down the hallway, away from Feyre’s door, then turned and looked at Nuala, trying to order my thoughts.

“Feyre… she… please, check on her. Bring her… bring her anything she wants.” I swallowed and looked away from Nuala’s searching gaze, the guilt hammering down on me hard, making it difficult to think, to breathe. “I’ll… be in my room. If she needs… anything.”

Nuala nodded, her brows tightening with concern as I stepped around her, heading to my room. Once inside I shut the door solidly behind me and leaned back against it, closing my eyes tightly. The unshed tears burned hotly, threatening to fall, and I beat them back by inches only.

After a few minutes I pushed myself up and crossed the room to the small desk and sank down into the chair, hard and heavy, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees and holding my head in my hands.

_What had I done..._

\- - - ~*~ - - -

I’m not entirely sure how long I sat there, staring at nothing and holding myself together by the barest thread of sanity. If I had broken her…

There was a knock at my door.

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer.

Another knock.

I remained silent. I knew it wasn’t Nuala, I knew Feyre did not want anything, and most especially not me. Of course not. I had broken her.

The door to my room opened.

When no one spoke I finally looked up, and Amren was staring at me, her face unreadable.

My throat tightened and she understood, without a word being spoken, what happened.

“She isn’t broken,” was all she said as she stood there, staring at me.

The tears burned again, and I shook my head at her – how could she possibly know that?

Amren arched a brow at me as she read the question in my eyes. “Because,” she said simply, “you aren’t either.”

I closed my eyes and dropped my head for a long moment, before finally sitting up, looking at her once more. 

“She couldn’t do it Amren.” I said hoarsely, my voice rough with all the unshed tears living inside of me. “I… what do I do?”

Amren studied me before she said, “You get out of this room, for one. Come down stairs with Mor and myself.” She managed a half grin at me, “I’ll even pour you a drink.”

I shook my head once, “But, Feyre-“

She cut me off with a wave of her hand, “I’ll take care of Feyre.”

I stared at her with confusion.

“What?” I stammered.

“I said, I will take care of Feyre.”

My brows furrowed, “How?”

That half grin returned, “That isn’t your concern. Trust me Rhysand, I can help her. Now come down stairs.”

I stared at her, uncertain, but then stood up. Amren opened the door and lead me down stairs to where Mor as already sitting on the couch. She looked up at me with such kindness and love, without a single drop of judgement in her warm brown eyes. It was more than I deserved, and it just made me hate myself more.

My legs were heavy, but I made it over to the couch where she was sitting, and sank down beside her, leaning back and letting out a deep breath. Mor shifted and pressed her shoulder against mine, leaning into me slightly, and her warmth beside me was comfortable and reassuring. Amren went to the sideboard and actually poured me a drink, walking over to set it on the side table beside me, before stepping around the couch and settling into an armchair.

I glanced at her again, then looked towards the fireplace where a small fire burned away.

“You really aren’t going to tell me what you’re going to do, to help her?” I finally asked.

I could hear the smirk in her words, “It’s better if you don’t know.”

My brows raised and I looked to her in concern. Beside me, Mor let out a laugh. I shifted, and looked at her, confused, and asked her, “You know?”

Mor grinned at me, “Of course. It was my idea.”

I stared hard at her, and I wasn’t sure if I felt better about this mysterious plan now that I knew Mor had thought it up, or worse realizing Amren had agreed to it.

Mor just grinned wider and winked at me, “You worry too much Rhys.”

I looked over at Amren, who was still smirking.

Shaking my head, I let out a low sigh and sank further back into the couch. “You two,” I said with the most honesty I had ever uttered, “are going to be the death of me.”

Mor just laughed.


	2. A Carving of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.
> 
> I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.
> 
> This Section:  
> Ch. 1 - Rhysand's unsuccessful attempt to take Feyre to the Bone Carver  
> Ch. 2 - Rhysand's successful attempt to take Feyre to the Bone Carver  
> Ch. 3 - Debriefing the family and making plans  
> Ch. 4 - Cassian and Rhysand have it out (New Scene)  
> Ch. 5 - Rhysand dreams of his mother and preps Feyre to visit the Weaver  
> Ch. 6 - Rhysand takes Feyre to the Weaver ***TRIGGER WARNING*** (Mention of noncon/forced - memory of Amarantha)
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.

The three of us spent the evening together, with Mor and Amren doing most of the talking, giving me the space to worry - as I am admittedly prone to do – but denying my grief the chance of devouring me entirely in what had been my self-imposed isolation. A part of me hoped that Feyre would come and join us, I even thought about going up to invite her – but it was Cerridwen who smashed that idea for me, when she came in to see if we wanted dinner.

Mor was instantly interested in food, my cousin could eat more than a small army.

I looked by at Cerridwen and asked her, though I was certain I already knew the answer, “Has Feyre had anything to eat?”

She hesitated, and that told me everything I needed to know. “No my Lord, we’ve taken her lunch and tea, she hasn’t touched either…” She trailed off, likely due to the look in my eyes.

I swallowed and looked away and nodded, “Thank you. I’m not hungry.”

Mor frowned at me, “Rhys.”

I just shook my head – I honestly wasn’t, not with my stomach twisted up.

I think the two of them would have stayed with me all night, had I asked them of it. No, I knew they would have – any of my family would have. But exhaustion hit me all of the sudden, running on no sleep from the night before and this infinite day of guilt and grief… I was dead on my feet. I bade them both a good night, and dragged myself upstairs, stripping out of my leathers I still had on, and climbing into bed.

I honestly didn’t expect to sleep – even as tired as I was.

I did though. 

And I dreamed.

_I was Under the Mountain again, pinned against the floor by Amarantha’s power._

_Feyre was screaming… screaming…_

_I couldn’t… I couldn’t get to her._

_I tried, I tried with everything in me, fought and struggled – beating my arms, my wings, my very soul against the invisible bonds that held me pinned to the ground._

_Amarantha was laughing._

_Feyre… Feyre!_

_Her screams, they were endless, louder and louder…_

_CRACK_

_Silence._

I woke with a gasp that was more of a sob, my body coated in sweat, trembling. I was struggling for breath as I looked around the room wildly, trying to remember where I was, trying to remember… _Feyre._

I sat up instantly and reached out with my darkness – it was already called up, dancing over my skin, drawn to the surface by my terror. I cast out a tendril of it, out of my room and into hers, searching, feeling…

She was there. She was alive. _She was alive_.

Another low sob escaped me, and I hung my head, shuddering with relief. _Oh Feyre… My Feyre_.

I couldn’t fall asleep again and spent the rest of the night staring up at the ceiling until the rays of the sun lightened the shadows of the room.

\- - - ~*~ - - -  

By mid-morning I was up and dressed, and sitting at the dining table, staring at a tray of food I was not eating, when my front door opened.

I looked up and spotted Amren walking in. She took off her knee length grey coat, draped it over the stair railing, glanced at me with a smirk, and walked up stairs.

I sat there, frozen, still as confused as last night, and more hopeful than I had any right to be.

Minutes passed as I waited, my eyes locked at the foot of the stairs, my ears straining… what for I wasn’t sure. Footsteps, crying… screaming?

Silence.

Then I heard a door shut, steps down the stairs, and Amren reappeared. She picked up her coat, slid it on, gave me another smirk and just… left.

I just stared after her… it... couldn’t be that easy, could it?

I waited. And then I heard it. The bed creaked. And my heart stopped. And then started racing as I sat up straighter in my chair. Nuala appeared from the kitchen, glancing at me once, before climbing the stairs to check on Feyre.

An eternity of waiting.

And then she was there, standing in the doorway to the dining room, staring at me. The dark circles under her eyes were nearly black again, and somehow, she looked even paler than before, but she was dressed in the Illyrian leathers, her hair braided back, and a faint glimmer of something in her eye I wasn’t sure how to categorize. It wasn’t hope, or even determination… and then it hit me. It was resolve. She was resolved to do this.

“Can we try again?” She asked me quietly.

At that very moment I could have kissed Amren. I would have knelt at Mor’s feet.

I managed a nod and gasped, “Yes. Yes of course.”

Swallowing, I stood up and gestured her into the room, “You… you should eat. I’m going to go get changed… we’ll go when I’m back down. If… you’re sure?”

Her gaze continued to hold mine for a long moment, then she walked into the room and took a seat, and a plate, and started to fill it with food, “I’m sure.”

I stared at her, until she finally glanced up at me and frowned a little. I shook my head and left the dining room, nearly flying up the stairs to my room.

My heart was pounding, hard enough I thought it might break out of my chest, and my breathing was ragged.

I _hadn’t_ broken her. She was still here, still alive, still fighting. The relief coursing through me was almost painful in its intensity.

I dressed as quickly as I could, with hands shaking with relief and hope and anxiety, shedding my finer city clothing for the Illyrian leathers and lacing up my boots. I put on my weapon harnesses again and unfurled my wings from where my darkness hid them, then made my way downstairs. Feyre was still eating, but she glanced up at me as I stepped into the room, and quickly finished, wiping her mouth on a napkin and then standing.

“If you’re still-“ I began and she cut me off with a shake of her head.

“I’m fine. Let’s get this over with.” She stepped towards me and I lifted my hand to her. She slid her cool fingers over my hand, and I wrapped my arm around her waist, looking down at her, when I saw it.

My brows furrowed in confusion. Feyre was wearing an amulet I was sure I had seen before…

She arched a brow at me, and I shook my head, swirling my darkness up around us and winnowing us back to the small island.

\- - - ~*~ - - - 

The hike up to the entrance of the prison was at best, grueling, even my thighs and calves were burning – I couldn’t imagine what Feyre’s felt like, as diminished as her body had become. She didn’t complain however, not once, she also didn’t speak, except to answer me with short responses. She was anxious, her body was stiff with the tension – and yet, she kept going. Though she did not complain, she did have to stop several times, and I begrudged her not one second of it. I didn’t mind the slow pace, or the frequent stops, because it meant she was here, it meant she was fighting.

I kept glancing at that amulet however, trying to puzzle it out – where had she even gotten it? I had arranged for some jewelry to be purchased for her, along with the outfits she had for the city, but there was something about this piece that nagged at a memory I couldn’t quite recall… until finally it hit me.

Amren.

I had purchased that amulet for Amren a few hundred years ago.

Mor and Amren had a plan, to help Feyre face the mountain. A plan, and an amulet – and Amren was to be the one to carry it out.

Feyre was frowning at me, “What?”

I stared at her as I continued to puzzle out what their plan had been, “She gave you that.” I said, not a question but a certainty.

Her brows rose, as though my words had solidified a belief for her, “It must be serious then,” she said, “the risk with-“ 

And it hit me, what they had done. I was going to kill them. Kiss them, and then kill them. I cut Feyre off suddenly, “Don’t say anything you don’t want the others hearing.” I could have told her the truth, told her that the amulet had no power at all, but I couldn’t do that to her. False hope was better than none at all. I pointed to the ground beneath our feet, “The inmates have nothing better to do than listen through the earth and rock for gossip. They’ll sell any bit of information for food, sex, maybe a breath of air.”

She was quiet, and we kept hiking while I silently fumed at my far-too-clever-for-their-own-good Second and Third.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre said quietly, breaking me out of my thoughts, “about yesterday.”

We reached a steep rock that jutted out slightly and stepped in front of her to grab the edge and haul myself up it, then turned and bent down, stretching out a hand to take hers, pulling her up. 

Once she was standing beside me, I looked at her and said with quiet sincerity, “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” I gave her hand a squeeze, and then let it go. “You’re here now.” Then I grinned a little and winked at her, “I won’t dock your pay.”

She just panted, but I had the feeling that if she wasn’t as wiped physically, she would be scowling at me – it made me want to laugh.

It wasn’t much further until we came to stand in front of a sheer face of rock. Reaching up with my left hand, I drew one of my swords lowering it and my arm to rest comfortably at my side. Glancing at her I noticed the look on her face and smirked, “Don’t look so surprised.”

She shifted awkwardly at my side, “I’ve – never seen you with a weapon.” 

I nearly laughed at that, “Cassian would laugh himself hoarse hearing that. And then make me go into the sparring ring with him.”

She looked at me with curiosity, “Can he beat you?”

I shrugged, without pride, “Hand-to-hand combat? Yes. He’d have to earn it for a change, but he’d win.” I smiled at her, “Cassian is the best warrior I’ve encountered in any court, any land. He leads my armies because of it.”

She considered that, then shifted and asked hesitantly, “Azriel – his hands. The scars I mean,” she asked. “Where did they come from?”

And I realized then that she was stalling, though I was fairly confident she didn’t realize it. I didn’t mind however, if she needed time to work up her courage to continue, I would wait. Although, the questions she asked weren’t… pleasant. And the answers were even more horrifying. Azriel wouldn’t mind though, he wouldn’t tell the story himself, but he wouldn’t mind that she knew. He might deal in secrets, but amongst those of us who made up the Inner Circle – and with a jolt I realized that now included her – he felt secrets were unacceptable unless absolutely necessary. 

I turned slightly, to face her better, and answered her, quietly, “His father had two legitimate sons, both older than Azriel. Both cruel and spoiled. They learned it from their mother, the lord’s wife. For the eleven years that Azriel lived in his father’s keep, she saw to it that he was kept in a cell with no window, no light. They let him out for an hour every day – let him see his mother for an hour once a week. He wasn’t permitted to train, or fly, or any of the things his Illyrian instincts roared at him to do.” I fell quiet for a moment, bracing myself for telling the rest of the story. Feyre’s eyes were dark, the pupils wide as she listened to me. “When he was eight, his brothers decided it’d be fun to see what happened when you mixed an Illyrian’s quick healing gifts with oil – and fire.“ The shock and horror that crossed her face was mirrored in my own eyes, even all these years later, Azriel’s story still horrified me “The warriors heard Azriel’s screaming. But not quick enough to save his hands.”

“Were – were his brothers punished?”

My face hardened and I gripped the pommel of my sword tighter, “Eventually.”

Her hands clenched and I watched as ice shown in her eyes, subtle but undeniable, born of rage and it made a shiver run down my spine.

Feyre was quiet for a few minutes before she asked me next, “And Mor – what does she do for you?”

Despite the rage I still harbored over Azriel’s past, I almost smiled. What didn’t Mor do for me? Well. Meddle that was for sure. Though sometimes the results were undeniable – Feyre was here as a result of her most recent meddling attempt.

“Mor,” I explained, “is who I’ll call in when the armies fall and Cassian and Azriel are both dead.”

Her brows furrowed, as though she was trying to imagine Mor as such a deadly being, “So she’s supposed to wait until then?” 

I shook my head, “No. As my Third, Mor is my… court overseer. She looks after the dynamics between the court of Nightmares and the Court of Dreams, and runs both Velaris and the Hewn City.” I thought about it and shrugged, “I suppose in the mortal realms she might be considered a Queen.”

This seemed to intrigue her a little, and she continued with her line of questioning, “And Amren?”

“Her duties as my Second,” I explained, “make her my political adviser, walking library, and doer of my dirty work. I appointed her upon gaining my throne. But she was my ally, maybe my friend, long before that.”

A look of uncertainty crossed her as she asked hesitantly, “I mean – in that war where your armies fail and Cassian and Azriel are dead, and even Mor is gone.”

My chest tightened at her question, but I answered her honestly, “If that day comes, I’ll find a way to break the spell on Amren and unleash her on the world. And ask her to end me first.”

The was a brief flash of disbelief, or maybe incredulity over that. “What _is_ she?”

I didn’t have a good answer for her, but I gave her the best one I could. “Something else. Something worse than us. And if she ever finds a way to shed her prison of flesh and bone… Cauldron save us all.”

A shudder ran through her and she finally looked away from me and to the sheer faced wall of stone in front of us and admitted, “I can’t climb bare rock like that.”

I smiled grimly, “You don’t need to.” Then turned and raised my free hand, placing it flat on the stone, and with a touch of my darkness along my palm, the stone melted away. Before us rose a pair of gates, so tall the top of them was nearly lost in the swirling mist. Pale and ancient, they were made entirely of bone.

I heard Feyre’s sudden intake of breath.

Gesturing with my upraised hand, the gates slid open smoothly, revealing behind them a darkness so black that I once remembered thinking that perhaps this is where darkness first spawned. I had been to the Hewn City several times since I had returned from Under the Mountain, and I struggled with the pressing feeling of the darkness and stone there. This… was a new hell. A part of me wanted to run away from it, I couldn’t deny that, but I – we needed what lay at the end of this prison. Answers.

For those I loved, I would always, _always_ sacrifice.

Taking a breath, I turned my head to look down at Feyre. Her face was pale and pinched, and she had reached up with her right hand, fingers clutching at the amulet tightly, knuckles white.

Reaching up with my right hand, I rested my hand lightly on the small of her back and waiting for her body to take the first step, then guided her inside. With a twist of my gift, I summoned three glowing balls of moonlight, setting them to spinning lazily around us, casting light over the roughhewn stone walls.

Only a step or two past the gates I felt her body tense and freeze and then panic surging through her. Leaning down towards her I murmured in her ear quietly, “Breathe.” My lips brushed across her hair and it felt silky and smelled sweet, “One breath.”

A slow shudder passed through her, but she managed to drag in an unsteady breath, then asked with a voice that quivered only a little, “Where are the guards?”

I understood then, talking would help her – something to focus on, to distract her from the darkness that threatened to swallow us whole.

“They dwell within the rock of the mountain,” I explained softly, sliding my hand from the small of her back only to reach down and wrap my fingers around her hand, squeezing it gently. “They only emerge at feeding time, or to deal with restless prisoners. They are nothing but shadows of thought and an ancient spell.”

I felt her fingers tighten fiercely around my hand; her grip was so tight it hurt. I could have cared less – feeling her grip on mine eased something in me and the darkness did not seem so frightening anymore. I began to lead her forward, feeling how close she kept her body to mine. It dawned on me that it was the first time she had ever willingly been this close to me for longer than the seconds it took to winnow, or the minutes it took to fly to the House of Wind… she was trusting me, actively.

My Feyre…

“Do all the High Lords have access?” She asked me in whisper.

“No,” I answered calmly, and actually felt that way – she had conquered the fear within me, and Amren’s words from two nights before came back to me; _Mates will always,_ always _, be stronger together than they ever could be apart._ Feyre made me strong, was in fact my strength.

My Mate, my Feyre.

“The Prison is a law unto itself; the island may even be an eighth court,” I continued, distracting her with the facts, “but it falls under my jurisdiction, and my blood is keyed to the gates.”

“Could you free the inmates?” She asked, keeping up the string of questions.

“No. Once the sentence is given and a prisoner passes those gates…” I trailed off for a moment, wincing a little at my choice of words, and hoped she recognized the word _prisoner_ being critical to this explanation, “They belong to the Prison. It will never let them out. I take sentencing people here very, very seriously.”

“Have you ever-“ 

I had hoped she wouldn’t ask that.

“Yes.” I cut her off, “And now is not the time to speak of it.” And then squeezed her hand to ensure she understood my meaning.

The Prison was by and large one of the worst responsibilities I held as High Lord – the responsibility of sentencing. It was _never_ a joking matter, and death was always the kinder sentence. The first time I had been a part of sentencing someone here, had been at my father’s side, and that had been awful… but the time I remembered above all others, I had been the one to sentence the fae, as High Lord. I did not doubt my decision, the fae I had sentenced, the things he had done… evil was too kind a word. And death would have been too kind a sentence. I could feel him here, through the stone walls, and I could feel his malice burning even brighter than the day I had sentenced him.

I let out a slow breath, and we continued, deeper into the mountain.

“How long,” Feyre asked, her voice still contained to whispers. “How long was she in here?”

I knew who she meant, and also did not repeat Amren’s name lest the Prison take notice of her.

“Azriel looked once. Into archives in our oldest temples and libraries. All he found was a vague mention that she went in before Prythian was split into the courts – and emerged once they had been established. Her imprisonment predates our written word. I don’t know how long she was in here – a few millennia seems like a fair guess.”

I heard her swallow and then ask, “You never asked?”

I shrugged, “Why bother? She’ll tell me when it’s necessary.”

I felt her hand tighten on mine for a moment as the stone of the floor jutted oddly and she stumbled. I paused and held her up as she steadied herself, then we continued.

“Where did she come from?” She asked after another few feet.

I had wondered that more than once myself. “I don’t know. Though there are legends that claim when the world was born, there were… rips in the fabric of the realms. That in the chaos of Forming, creatures from other worlds could walk through one of those rips and enter another world. But the rips closed at will, and the creatures could become trapped, with no way home.”

I could feel the horror of that answer radiate from her – to be trapped in another realm. Perhaps it was the same as we had been, trapped Under the Mountain, a realm of torture of death. Perhaps Amren understood what we had been through better than I had realized. 

Another few feet and then I insisted that we take a break, she wouldn’t ask for one, but I could feel her body straining, her breathing coming in ragged pants. Both of us were unwilling to lean against the rock walls, so we crouched on the floor. Laying my sword beside me for a moment, I reached into my pocket realm and pulled out a small canteen of water and passed it to her. Expecting her to let go of my hand to take it and drink, she instead released her death grip on the amulet and kept her hand on mine.

My throat tightened with that, and I still did not care that her grip was tight enough to hurt, that my fingers tingled with the loss of blood – in this small way she was choosing me, and I… I was in heaven smack dab in the middle of hell. 

She drank deep, and her breathing evened out before she asked, returning to the topic of Amren. “You think she was one of them?”

I shrugged a little, “I think that she is the only one of her kind, and there is no record of others ever having existed. Even the Suriel have numbers, however small. But she – and some of those in this Prison…” I trailed off for a moment, glancing around almost cautiously and she seemed to tense a little as well, “I think they came from somewhere else. And they have been looking for a way home for a long time.”

She stared at me for a moment, then handed me the canteen. I replaced it in the pocket realm and picked up my sword. Standing again, her now empty hand reaching back up to clutch the amulet. We continued on, the balls of light I had summoned at the beginning continued to hover and swirl, casting pale light that only just barely beat back the darkness. We were quiet for a while, but I heard her breath suddenly hitch in a way that wasn’t from the strain of the hike, and through the bond I felt a swirl of panic, and I could have sworn I smelled the reek of her dungeon Under the Mountain, the scent of moldy hay…

I squeezed her hand and tried to distract her from the memories that haunted her, “Just a bit farther.”

She sucked in a deep breath as she tried to wrangle in her panic, and I had never been prouder of her. She was facing it down, even if she only held it back by inches, she was _holding._ My radiant Feyre, there was nothing she couldn’t do.

“We must be near the bottom by now,” she whispered, and in a way, it almost sounded like a prayer.

“Past it,” I replied. “The Bone Carver is caged beneath the roots of the mountain.”

“Who is he?” She asked hesitantly, “What is he?”

I shook my head slightly, “No one knows. He’ll appear as he wants to appear.”

I felt her steps falter slightly, and I paused to let her gather herself.

“Shape-shifter?” She asked, looking up at me, and her face was so pale, her eyes wide with uncertainty.

I gave her a reassuring smile, “Yes and no. He’ll appear to you as one thing, and I might be standing right beside you and see another.”

I felt her swallow hard, and I knew what she thought without needing to read her mind; Amarantha.

I squeezed her hand again, and wanted to tell her, _no_. It won’t happen. But it could, to either of us, and we would have to face it, face the memory of her. I understood her fear, I felt it as well, bone deep.

Another moment of hesitation, then we continued walking again. 

“And the bone carving?” She asked again, continuing to try and fill the terrible silence that was only broken by the sound of our footsteps or the faint whispers of the prisoners sealed behind the stone – scratching on the walls or relentless pacing; fortunately there were no screams, most of these prisoners were past that point.

“You’ll see,” I responded and brought us to a stop in front a smooth slab of stone.

I looked down at her, meeting her gaze for a moment, then finally and regretfully, let go of her hand. In the faint light I could see the patches of white that showed the loss of blood where her fingers had gripped me tightly. Placing my hand on the stone, as I had done with the gate, a touch of my power caused the stone to melt away, revealing a door. A door of ivory, creamy white, and intricately carved with countless images of flora and fauna, seas and clouds, stars and moons, infants and skeletons, all creatures fair and foul. 

A gesture of my hand, and the door swung open and before either of us entered, before the door was even open half way, he spoke to us. 

“I have carved the doors for every prisoner in this place,” said a rough male voice I recognized instantly, “but my own remains my favorite.”

Stepping inside, the balls of light trailing along above me, I looked to the far wall and saw him sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall.

He was dirty, and had blood dripping off of him, his arms resting on his knees, I noticed a finger missing, and as he looked at me, I saw one of his eyes was missing as well.

_Jurian._

Jurian as I had last seen him, fighting against Amarantha; fighting and losing.

I kept my face blank, and my voice calm as I replied, “I’d have to agree.”

Feeling Feyre hovering behind me in the doorway, I reached into my pocket realm and called forth a bag, summoning it into my free hand. Opening it I withdrew a small but thick bone, broken and splintered at one end. I held it for a moment, feeling the smoothness of it and smelling the faint scent of mud and desperation. I chucked the bone across the room towards the Bone Carver, watching it fall and skid the last foot or so across the floor to come to a stop in front of him.

“The calf-bone that made the final kill when Feyre slew the Middengard Wyrm,” I told him simply and felt Feyre tense behind me. I hadn’t told her about this part of the deal with the Bone Carver, that an initial price had to be paid to him – and that the more interesting the bone, the more likely he was to interact with you. Furthermore I knew she had no idea which bone would have dealt the killing blow to the Wyrm in that pit trap she had set for it… but I had used my magic to figure it out, and taken it, keeping it both as a souvenir to her triumph, and for this – because if we had ever escaped from Under the Mountain I knew that I would eventually have to come speak to the Bone Carver. 

“Come inside,” was all he said.

Glancing to my side I watched Feyre take one step inside of the cell and no further. I understood her hesitation; she had spent three months inside a cell not all that dissimilar to this one – possibly worse in some ways, because there had been unknown torture awaiting the other side of the door for three months and nearly guaranteed death at each turn. And between her trials there had been me, parading her around each evening, drugging her with wine... I swallowed and turned my attention back towards the Bone Carver as he spoke.

“It has been an age,” he said as his one dark eye stared hard, devouring the sight of Feyre, “since something new came into the world.”

Feyre stared right back at him and whispered softly, “Hello.”

Jurian, the Bone Carver, smiled, but it was full of mockery, “Are you frightened?”

I tensed and waited, hoping Feyre remembered what I had told her the day before.

“Yes,” she whispered again. Fear. It was something she had not been feeling, or at least not acknowledging inside of herself, but now she was – already she had broken new ground inside of herself. Now all I had to worry about was, well, everything – and hope that she would not break under the rest of his questions. 

With a smirk, he stood up and tilted his head at her, but kept to the other side of the cell, against the wall. “Feyre,” he murmured her name, then said it again, drawing out the syllables, tasting them as though he could taste her soul through her name, “Fay-ruh.” Straightening his head, he asked her, “Where did you go when you died?”

Feyre did not hesitate, “A question for a question.”

I almost smiled.

He turned his gaze to me and smirked, “You were always smarter than your forefathers.”

Looking back at Feyre with that one dark eye, blood still dripping down his face, off his hand with the missing finger, onto the cold stone floor. “Tell me where you went, what you saw – and I will answer your question.”

I felt Feyre go still beside me, her breathing shallow, and glanced back at her just once to see the dark shadow that crossed her face as she brought up the memories of her time Under the Mountain. Her final torture under Amarantha, of her death. My heart was racing in my chest, worry causing my throat to tighten while my body went rigid with fear at having to relive it myself, but this time through her eyes.

I returned my gaze to the Bone Carver, watching him, but shifted slightly so I could see her better out of the corner of my eye.

She fisted her hands then said quickly, “I heard the crack.”

I whipped my head to look at her – I… I hadn’t expected that. I hadn’t expected that she had heard the moment when she died, I’m not sure why, I guess… I had hoped, that at the very least, that moment of death had been silent, and peaceful. The Cauldron had not been that merciful it seems.

“I heard the crack when she broke my neck. It was in my ears, but also inside my skull. I was gone before I felt anything more than the first lash of pain.” She swallowed once, and continued bravely, “And then it was dark. A different sort of dark than this place. But there was a… thread. A tether.”

My heart froze. Time seemed to stop as I could not tear my eyes from her.

“And I yanked on it – and suddenly I could see. Not through my eyes, but – but his.” She inclined her head towards me, and I saw that she was uncurling her left hand, the one with the tattoo that marked our bargain, as though displaying it to the Bone Carver as evidence. “And I knew I was dead, and this tiny scrap of spirit was all that was left of me, clinging to the thread of our bargain.”

I was completely floored, I had forgotten how to breathe, how to even exist. She… she had felt the bond, of course she thought it was the bargain, but she had felt it – touched it even, and in death used it to hold on, the same way I had clung to her spirit with every inch of my remaining strength, to try and keep her from passing on – she had done the same, holding onto me through our bond. I wanted to cry, laugh, scream…

“But was there anyone there – were you seeing anything beyond?”  The Bone Carver asked, and one part of my brain was paying attention to him, calculating, but the rest of me… the rest of me was focused only on her, on Feyre. My Feyre.

“There was only that bond in the darkness.” She answered quietly and I saw her glance up at me, her eyes gone dark as she studied my face for a moment, then looked back at the Bone Carver as she continued. “And when I was Made anew, I followed that bond back – to me. I knew home was on the other end of it. There was light then. Like swimming up through sparkling wine-“

Home. She had known home was on the other side. That had been me, on the other side, holding onto her, clinging to her, refusing to let her go. She had known and yet… not. I had little doubt she thought it was Tamlin and not me. She thought the bond was the bargain we shared, and yet believed on the other side Tamlin had been what called to her. I felt my chest caving in, my heart crushing into nothing. There was no part of her that wanted me, even if she was becoming friendlier with me, beginning to trust me… she did not want me. I was right… I was right to not tell her. Amren and Mor – they just didn’t understand this, understand her. I had been right.

“Were you afraid?” He asked.

“All I wanted was to return to – to the people around me.” I looked away from her finally, back to the Bone Carver, such terrible loss burning inside of me, the emptiness I had felt since we escaped Under the Mountain threatening to devour me. “I wanted it badly enough I didn’t have room for fear. The worst had happened, and the darkness was calm and quiet. It did not seem like a bad thing to fade into. But I wanted to go home. So I followed the bond home.”

“There was no other world,” the Bone Carver asked insistently.

She shook her head once, “If there was or is, I did not see it.”

His brows, Jurian’s brows, furrowed in thought as he asked, “No light, no portal?”

Another shake of her head, “It was only peace and darkness.”

“Did you have a body?”

“No.”

“Did-“ 

I finally stepped in, I had to – he was on a roll, taking all of the information he could without offering any in return, and it seemed to me that Feyre, while remembering the first rule, had forgotten to keep the second. I could only hope that she recalled the third.

“That’s enough of you. You said a question for a question. Now you’ve asked…” I said with a purr, feigning calm I did not feel at all, and pretended to tally on my fingers, “Six.”

The Bone Carver smirked at me and leaned back against the wall before sliding down against it into a sitting position. “It is a rare day when I meet someone who comes back from true death. Forgive me for wanting to peer behind the curtain.” He gestured at Feyre with the blood-soaked hand, “Ask it, girl.”

Feyre swallowed, pausing a moment to order her thoughts, then asked slowly, carefully, “If there was no body – nothing but perhaps a bit of bone, would there be a way to resurrect that person? To grow them a new body, put their soul into it.”

Jurian’s eye almost seemed to glow, “Was the soul somehow preserved? Contained?”

I knew Feyre and I both thought the same thing. The ring that contained his eye, preserved for hundreds of years, trapped inside, denying him death and forcing him to watch the world around him. Forced to watch the torture and death Amarantha inflicted, on fae and mortals alike, and having no ability to stop her. A fate worse than death. A fate worse than the Prison. 

“Yes,” Feyre answered quietly.

“There is no way,” The Bone Carver answered, but I didn’t believe him – he was holding something back.

Feyre began to relax the set of her shoulders in relief, then Bone Carver spoke up, proving my assumptions correct.

“Unless…” He began taping his fingers, bouncing them over his thumb, one by one, all except the missing one. “Long ago, before the High Fae, before man, there was a Cauldron…” I focused closer – this was the reason we had come, this knowledge. Well. One of the reasons.

“They say all magic was contained inside it, that the world was born in it. But it fell into the wrong hands. And great and horrible things were done with it. Things were _forged_ with it. Such wicked things that the Cauldron was eventually stolen back at great cost. It could not be destroyed, for it had Made all things, and if it were broken, then life would cease to be. So it was hidden. And forgotten. Only with that Cauldron could something that is dead be reforged like that.”

Staring at him, at the face of Jurian, I asked him quietly, “Where did they hide it?”

The Bone Carver looked at me and grinned viciously, “Tell me a secret no one knows, Lord of Night, and I’ll tell you mine.”

I wasn’t interested in his games but had little choice but to play them – yet I didn’t have to play them fairly.

With a smirk I gestured down towards my right leg, “My right knee gets a twinge of pain when it rains. I wrecked it during the War, and it’s hurt ever since.”

Feyre gaped at me, I was almost amused. Almost. If only I wasn’t so empty.

The Bone Carver, laughed once, harsh and short, “You always were my favorite.” Grinning at me with something that was almost malice, he told me. “Very well. The Cauldron was hidden at the bottom of a frozen lake in Lappland-“ My mind began to calculate, maybe the King of Hybern hadn’t found it yet, maybe we could get there first… I began to turn, as though to usher Feyre out, but he continued, “And vanished a long, long time ago.” I froze and looked back at him, waiting. “I don’t know where it went to – or where it is now.”

I let out a low sigh. Of course not.

“Millenia before you were born, the three feet on which it stands were successfully cleaved from its base in an attempt to fracture _some_ of its power. It worked – barely. Removing the feet was like cutting off the first knuckle of a finger. Irksome, but you could still us the rest with some difficulty.” I watched him flex his hand with the missing finger, taunting me with it. I refused to respond, and remained quiet, letting him continue with his explanation. He grinned at me, “The feet were hidden at three different temples –“ I knew before he said their names which temples, “Cesere, Sangravah, and Itica. If _they_ have gone missing, it is likely the Cauldron is active once more – and that the wielder wants it at full power and not a wisp of it missing.” 

How had I _never_ been told that those temples protected such important artifacts! They were useless without the Cauldron, but with it… And they were left in temples guarded by priestesses who, while not entirely defenseless, where obviously not up to defending the artifacts! And _now_ they were in the hands of our enemy. Anger boiled up in me, hot and roiling.

Gritting my teeth, I exhaled slowly and asked, needing to confirm that my worst fears were in all actuality, the truth, “I don’t suppose you know _who_ now has the Cauldron.”

Grinning wickedly, he lifted his maimed hand and pointed at Feyre, “Promise that you’ll give me her bones when she dies and I’ll think about it." 

I felt Feyre stiffen beside me, and then he laughed, “No – I don’t think even you would promise that, Rhysand.”

I glared at him furiously, before saying quietly, “Thank you for your help.” Reaching out with my free hand, I placed it lightly on Feyre’s back to guide her out.

She didn’t move; continuing to stare at the Bone Carver. Then she said, “There was a choice – in Death.”

My hand tightened against her back, then relaxed – it was her choice. Always her choice.

“I knew,” she continued smoothly, “that I could drift away into the dark. And I chose to fight – to hold on for a bit longer. Yet I knew if I wanted, I could have faded. And maybe it would be a new world, a realm of rest and peace.” I stared down at her again, in absolute awe of her, to have had that strength, to hold on… yes, I had helped, perhaps anchored her for those critical moments, but she had chosen to stay, and had the will to do so. “But I wasn’t ready for it – not to go there alone.”

I froze, again. I had intended this journey today be a way of helping her accept what happened, we needed the answers yes, but I wanted her to face her truth… I hadn’t realized the truths it would force me to face as well.

_…not to go there alone…_

That was what I had promised myself, as Amarantha had tortured her – that she wouldn’t die alone, that I would go with her, and she… she hadn’t wanted to go alone either. 

“I knew there was something else waiting beyond that dark. Something good.” She finished quietly, keeping her eyes on the Bone Carver.

The Bone Carver was silent for a bit, studying her, then looked at me – though my eyes remained on her – and he said, “You know who has the Cauldron, Rhysand. Who has been pillaging the temples. You only came here to confirm what you have long guessed.”

I finally looked back to him and said, less in a question and more of a statement, “The King of Hybern."

He said nothing else and I felt Feyre shift, and then offer up more of her soul, and this sliver… this sliver of her soul threatened to destroy mine entirely.

“When Amarantha made me kill those two faeries, if the third hadn’t been Tamlin, I would have put the dagger in my own heart at the end.” 

A jolt of agony so profound I felt my knees nearly buckle beneath it’s onslaught.

_Oh Feyre…_

“I knew there was no coming back from what I’d done,” she continued quietly, calmly, as though talking about her own potential demise was like mentioning the weather. “And once I broke their curse, once I knew I’d saved them, I just wanted enough time to turn that dagger on myself. I only decided I wanted to live when she killed me, and I knew I had not finished whatever… whatever it was I’d been born to do.”

I stared at her, my soul in total devastation at what she admitted to him. I saw her look at me, and I had to look away, I couldn’t meet her gaze, because… because it was my fault. All of it. I could trace the line back, point out every way in which I had failed her, had failed all of them, and none more so than her. It was my shame to bear.

I forced my face into blankness, denying myself even the privilege of expressing my feelings. I deserved nothing. Especially not _her._

The Bone Carver spoke again, and surprisingly his voice almost seemed gentle, “With the Cauldron, you could do other things than raise the dead.” He paused for a moment, waiting until we were both staring at him before he said, “You could shatter the Wall.”

I felt Feyre’s panic again, and knew she thought about her family. Would I fail them too? I had promised myself I would fight for them, for her, but would I fail to protect them as I had failed to protect her? I wasn’t sure I would survive the guilt if I did this time, I wasn’t sure how I was still alive with my guilt now.

“It is likely that Hybern has been quiet for so many years because he was hunting the Cauldron, learning its secrets. Resurrection of a specific individual might very well have been his first test once the feet were reunited – and now he finds that the Cauldron is pure energy, pure power. And like any magic, it can be depleted. So he will let it rest, let it gather strength – learn its secrets to feed it more energy, more power.”

Well, that was something at least – it wasn’t an infinite source of power, it could be drained, even if just temporarily.

“Is there a way to stop it?” Feyre asked softly.

Silence.

The Bone Carver just stared at her.

Expecting more. More of her soul. She had said enough, more than enough, no more. I turned towards her and said hoarsely, “Don’t offer him one more-“

“When the Cauldron was made,” he interrupted me suddenly, “it’s dark maker used the last of the molten ore to forge a book. The Book of Breathings. In it, written between the carved words, are the spells to negate the Cauldron’s power – or control it wholly. But after the War it was split into two pieces. One went to the Fae, one to the six human Queens. It was part of the Treaty, purely symbolic, as the Cauldron had been lost for millenia and considered mere myth. The Book was believed harmless, because like calls to like – and only that which has been Made can speak those spells and summon its power.” His dark eyes flashed in mild amusement, “No creature born of the earth may wield it, so the High Lords and humans dismissed it as little more than a historical heirloom, but if the Book were in the hands of something reforged… You would have to test such a theory, of course – but… it might be possible.” A wicked grin spread across his face as he looked towards Feyre, and the way she tensed I knew she understood.

He continued, “So now the High Lord of Summer possesses our piece, and the reigning mortal Queens have the other entombed in their shining palace by the sea. Prythian’s half is guarded, protected with blood-spells keyed to Summer himself.” And with that he confirmed another piece of information I had garnered Under the Mountain. I had not known what it was the Summer Court protected that had to do with the Cauldron, some form of artifact, but I had known they had something, and that it might be vitally important to stopping the Cauldron. I also picked up another vital piece of information from the Carver – the piece in the Summer Court was warded with the High Lords magic, and Feyre had a piece of that magic inside of her. Like calls to like. “The one belonging to the mortal Queens…” He paused, looking almost delighted by those long dead queens, “They were crafty, when they received their gift. They used our own kind to spell the Book, to bind it – so that if it were ever stolen, if, let’s say, a High Lord were to winnow into their castle and steal it… the Book would melt into ore and be lost. It must be freely given by a mortal Queen, with no trickery, no magic involved.” He laughed, “Such clever, lovely creatures, humans.” 

He paused for a moment, his eyes going distant, as though lost in memory… Then his gaze sharpened again, on me, “Reunite both halves of the Book of Breathings and you will be able to nullify the powers of the Cauldron. Hopefully before it returns to full strength and shatters that Wall.””

And with that… there was nothing more to ask. And nothing more I was willing to give.

Feyre seemed to have a similar thought, because she turned and headed for the door. I dropped my hand from her back and reached down to hold her hand – desperately needing to touch her, to feel her skin against mine, to know that she was real, that she was alive.

She did not grip my hand back, her skin was so cold, and I could tell by the sag of her shoulders that she was exhausted. But she did not pull her hand away.

As we left the room, we heard the Bone Carver drag the bone I had thrown to him earlier towards himself, and call out to Feyre, “I shall carve your death in here, Feyre.”

And with that I shut and sealed the door behind us.

We began making our way through the devouring darkness, working back towards the entrance.

Curiosity seemed to inspire some degree of energy in her, because she finally asked, “What did you see?”

I glanced at her, “You first.”

She didn’t look at me as she said, “A boy – around eight; dark-haired and blue-eyed.”

I shuddered a little – in pure relief. To see a child here would be terrible, but thank the Cauldron, the Mother and whatever other gods may be – it hadn’t been Amarantha.

“What did you see?” She asked again, surprisingly pushy for an answer.

I glanced at her, then answered, “Jurian.” She halted for a second, and I turned to look at her, still holding her hand. “He appeared exactly as Jurian looked the last time I saw him, facing Amarantha when they fought to the death.”

Her eyes were wide again in shock.

We didn’t speak again as we worked our way out of the Prison – her anxiety over the dark and the mountain seeming to grow less with each step, as though something in her soul recognized that they held no control over her and there was nothing to fear. That she had fought back the darkness with each step of her life, and that nothing could hold her. Never again.

The trek from the gates, down the side of the mountain and back to the cliffs went faster than the ascent had been, and it was late afternoon when I took her back into my arms and winnowed us both back to the town house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This endeavor is my first ever fanfiction attempt, and it has been a blast to play with so far.
> 
> I would love to see your comments about what I'm writing!
> 
> So please hit me up with what you think! - Otter


	3. Something Foul is Brewing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.
> 
> I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.
> 
> This Section:  
> Ch. 1 - Rhysand's unsuccessful attempt to take Feyre to the Bone Carver  
> Ch. 2 - Rhysand's successful attempt to take Feyre to the Bone Carver  
> Ch. 3 - Debriefing the family and making plans  
> Ch. 4 - Cassian and Rhysand have it out (New Scene)  
> Ch. 5 - Rhysand dreams of his mother and preps Feyre to visit the Weaver  
> Ch. 6 - Rhysand takes Feyre to the Weaver ***TRIGGER WARNING*** (Mention of noncon/forced - memory of Amarantha)
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.

When we arrived in the foyer of the town house, I knew instantly we were not alone – and let out a sigh. Lowering my arms from around Feyre, she stepped away and I turned to look into the sitting from. Sure enough, there sat most of my Inner Circle, their eyes locked on us.

“Amren’s right,” I drawled with vague annoyance, noting she was the only one not here waiting for us. Walking forward to the threshold to the sitting room I leaned against the doorway. “You _are_ like dogs, waiting for me to come home. Maybe I should buy treats.”

Mor snorted while Cassian gave me a vulgar gesture from his position on the couch. Azriel didn’t react, wrapped in his shadows by the front window.

I watched as Feyre strode past me, my eyes lingering on her as she made her way to the armchair in front of the fire place, sitting on the edge and stretching her hands up to warm her fingers. She was _not_ broken. She had survived the Prison and faced some of the darkness inside of her. I worried though, what nightmares she would face tonight… _we_ would face, because I would never let her face them alone ever again. It didn't matter that I knew for certain that she did not want me, and never would – I still would not abandon her, ever.

A shift of movement caught my attention, and I looked over and saw Cassian glancing between Feyre and myself, his brows furrowed as though he was working out a complicated problem. When he finally met my eyes, he stared hard at me, through me, and then his face cleared, realization dawning for him. I wanted to groan, but I kept my face blank. Somehow… I think that confirmed what he had figured out – my lack of reaction.

 _Great_.

“How’d it go?” Mor asked, breaking the awkward silence.

I let out a slow sigh, trying not to dwell on the fact that Mor had been right about the rest of them figuring it out.

“The Bone Carver,” I said tiredly, “is a busybody gossip who likes to pry into other people’s business far too much.”

Cassian, going all business now, leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees. “But?”

“But,” I said, and noticed Feyre wasn’t even looking at us, but I could tell by the tilt of her head she was listening. “He can also be helpful, when he chooses. And it seems we need to start doing what we do best.”

I walked forward then and took a seat at the table by the front window, closest to Azriel and then looked at each of them in turn. “I first need to apologize; I haven’t told you everything I’ve known. Please understand, it wasn’t due to a lack of faith in any of you, but rather a desperate hope that I was wrong.” I reached up, rubbed my eyes, then began explaining.

“While I was Under the Mountain, I heard snippets of a few conversations that I was not supposed to hear. I did what I could to learn more, but it was difficult while under so much scrutiny and without Amren’s talent for research or even access to any useful books.” I smiled wryly, none of them responded to my smile however, they just waited for me to continue. “I heard mention of an ancient artifact, the Cauldron – that it wasn’t just a myth or legend, but an actual artifact, and what the myths did have correct was its ability to do great and terrible things.”

Leaning forward, I continued, “When we escaped,” I glanced briefly at Feyre, who was looking at me now, “I didn’t tell any of you about the Cauldron and let Amren do her own research – because I wanted an impartial answer. I was hoping she would find no evidence of it, and instead find some other method that Hybern might try to take down the Wall – an easier method to neutralize.” I looked back up at them and smirked a little, “Unfortunately for me, that plan back fired, because while Amren found no reliable evidence that the Cauldron actually existed in our archives, she also could not find any other method for Hybern to tear down the Wall. So, either that wasn’t the plan, or Hybern knew more about it than we did. Since I knew they had been working at this longer than anyone of us had realized, I hedged my bets that the Cauldron was real.”

I shrugged a little, “Today’s expedition confirmed all of it. The Cauldron exists, Hybern has it, and they are going to use it – if they haven’t already – to resurrect Jurian. Unfortunately, we have also learned that isn’t the extent of what it can do – it can in fact, bring down the Wall.”

I saw Feyre tense again, and Cassian swore colorfully.

I waited for him to stop, then continued, “There is more, let me finish then you all can hound me. I told you that the attacks on the temples were related to what Hybern was up to – but I didn’t know how they were related, or what the attackers were looking for. It appears that a millennia ago, the feet of the Cauldron were removed to try and reduce its power – and it worked. The feet were hidden away in three temples – the ones which were ransacked. I had no idea that those temples housed those artifacts, if I had known…”

My anger in this matter, was nothing compared to Azriel’s it seemed – it fairly rippled off of him, dancing with his shadows that swirled around him darkly. “You cannot be telling us,” he nearly growled, “that they kept part of the Cauldron in _temples_ and did not at least keep the High Lord informed in case of a possible attack.”

I exhaled a long, low breath, “Believe me, I am not pleased with the Priestess’ lack of foresight in this matter. I can understand their caution, but those artifacts were far too valuable to leave to chance.” Then I shrugged, “It’s too late now however, Hybern has them, and if they manage to re-attach the legs to the Cauldron, it will return to full power. I personally believe that the King has already accomplished this – though I have no proof of it.”

I leaned back in the chair again, “The only good news out of all of this is that there is a chance we can stop it. Apparently, when the Cauldron was created a Book was as well, the Book of Breathings. This Book has ancient spells carved into it that can either nullify or enhance the Cauldron’s abilities. After the War, during the period when the treaty was made, the Book was split in half, and as proof of peace, half was given to the six mortal Queens, and half was kept here, in Prythian.” I saw Mor’s eyes sharpen at the mention of the Queens, out of all of us she had spent the most time around them during the War. “The Carver said if we could retrieve both halves of the Book, and reunite them, then we might be able to stop the Cauldron from tearing down the Wall.”

Azriel, having apparently managed to conquer his earlier anger, asked quietly, “Do you know where in Prythian the other half of the Book is?”

I looked at him and nodded, “Yes, and I have already taken steps to retrieve it. It’s in the Summer Court, though I have no idea where it is hidden there. Yesterday I sent a formal request to visit with an entourage under the guise of diplomatic relations.”

For a moment, no one said anything else. It was Mor who broke the pensive silence, “If we manage to find the Book, and reunite it, and can get access to the Cauldron, a simple spell will nullify it’s magic? Or is there more to this story Rhysand?”

 _Rhysand_. My full name. Always a sign she was annoyed with me.

I shrugged tiredly and gestured briefly towards Feyre, “Because the Cauldron was Made, it will require someone who was also Made to use the spell to nullify it. That is why the Book was split in the first place – the spells inside of it are pointless without someone like Feyre to use them, and because of that and the fact that everyone believed the Cauldron to be a myth at best, or lost to time at worst, it wasn’t a great loss to give half of the Book away.”

Everyone glanced at Feyre, who surprisingly met their gazes calmly and did not look away until they did.

“Great,” Cassian snorted, “well getting the Book from the Summer Court might be tricky but getting it from the Queens should be a piece of cake.”

I shook my head with a touch of frustration and Azriel’s gaze sharpened on me, “No, it might be the more difficult half to get. It seems that when they received their half, the original Queens used their contacts among the fae to have it warded – the Book cannot be stolen. If anyone tries, it will melt. It can only be freely given by one of the mortal Queens, and no trickery can be involved. We will have to convince them it is in their best interests to give the Book to us.” 

Mor reached up and rubbed her temples before letting out a sigh. I agreed with the sentiment – everything just got a lot more complicated, and we had so very little time to accomplish any of it, and unfortunately, we would be working on a time schedule controlled by everyone but us.

Azriel finally came forward and sat at the table with me, “I’ll contact my sources in the Summer Court about where the half of the Book of Breathings is hidden. I can fly into the human world myself to figure out where they’re keeping their part of the Book before we ask them for it.”

I shook my head at him, “I don’t trust this information with anyone outside of this room.” I amended that last statement, “Save for Amren.” Or she might skin me alive.

Azriel’s body tensed and he said quietly, steel in his voice, “They can be trusted.”

“We’re not taking risks where this is concerned.” I leaned forward and held Azriel’s gaze, and willed him to understand it was not a judgement or reflection on him – but that the stakes were simply too high. Too many lives rested on the actions and decisions we made from this point on.

He stared at me, long and hard, then nodded, relaxing his hands.

Mor cut in sharply, “So what _do_ you have planned?”

I did not meet any of their gazes for a few minutes, brushing a hand over one side of my pants, knocking off some of the grime of the Prison. When I did finally look up, the rage I felt about all of it – Amarantha, Under the Mountain, the sacking of the temples, every single bit of it had changed from red hot to tempered, cold steel – I was going to _destroy_ Hybern for everything they had done. One look at my face had Cassian grinning with wicked delight.

“The King of Hybern sacked one of our temples to get a missing piece of the Cauldron. As far as I’m concerned, it’s an act of war – an indication that His Majesty has no interest in wooing me.”

Cassian snorted, “He likely remembers our allegiance to the humans in the war, anyway. He wouldn’t jeopardize revealing his plans while trying to sway you, and I bet some of Amarantha’s cronies reported to him about what happened Under the Mountain.” He swallowed once, his eyes tightening, “About how it all ended, I mean.”

I met Cassian’s gaze for a moment – we still needed to have our talk. I decided at that very moment, that it would be tonight, I was tired, but it needed to happen.

First though, we would need to tie up this evening, and there was still plenty more to cover – and another set of plans to reveal.

“Indeed.” I said smoothly in response to Cassian, “But this means Hybern’s forces have already successfully infiltrated our lands – without detection. I plan to return the favor.”

Both Cassian and Mor grinned now, Azriel just studied my face with quiet acceptance – though I felt there was cold rage buried deep within him. Feyre however… looked concerned. I understood why though – while she had the spirit of a fighter, she had none of the skill set of one. Retribution, war, fighting – such things were understandably terrifying to those with no idea how to fight or defend themselves, or others. I planned on fixing that, as soon as possible.

“How?” Mor asked.

I crossed my arms, “It will require careful planning.” I looked over at Azriel – here is where I would really need his talents. “But if the Cauldron is in Hybern, then to Hybern we must go. Either to take it back… or use the Book to nullify it.”

Azriel understood, but countered, “Hybern likely has as many wards and shields around it as we have here. We’d need to find a way to get through them undetected first.”

I nodded in agreement, “Which is why we start now. While we hunt for the Book. So when we get both halves, we can move swiftly – before word can spread that we even possess it.”

Cassian nodded in agreement with this plan, but asked, “How are you going to retrieve the Book, then?”

I shifted my gaze to Feyre, who had remained silent this whole time, and saw her stiffen – as though bracing for the axe to fall. “Since the Book is shielded by the power of the High Lord of Summer Court, and can only be found by him – through his power… Then, in addition to her uses regarding the handling of the Book of Breathings itself, it seems we possibly have our own detector.”

All of them looked towards Feyre now as well.

She cringed a little, “ _Perhaps_ was what the Bone Carver said in regard to me being able to track things. You don’t know…”

She trailed off when she saw my smirk.

“You have a kernel of all our power – like having seven thumbprints. If we’ve hidden something, if we’ve made or protected it with our power, no matter where it was been concealed, you will be able to track it through that very magic.”

She argued, always disbelieving that she might be special, useful, “You can’t know that for sure.”

I smiled at her, though in honestly, there wasn’t much humor in it. “No – but there is a way to test it.”

Cassian let out a groan, “Here we go.”

Mor and Azriel just shared a look I didn’t bother to read at the moment, while my gaze remained locked on Feyre’s.

“With your abilities, Feyre, you might be able to find the half of the Book at the Summer Court – and break the wards around it,” I began to explain, revealing the bare bones of my plan, “But I’m not going to take the Carver’s word for it, or bring you there without testing you first. To make sure when it counts, when you need to get that Book, you – _we_ do not fail. So we’re going on another little trip. To see if you can find a valuable object of mine that I’ve been missing for a considerably long time.”

“Shit,” Mor said sharply.

And then the room went completely silent, all except for the crackling of the fire. Azriel, Cassian and Mor just stared at me with looks ranging from incredulous to furious.

Feyre glanced around at each of them, then back to me and asked quietly, “Where?”

Azriel’s eyes flashed at me – he was not pleased with this idea in the slightest. “To the Weaver.”

Cassian, somehow, managed to be less pleased – he had taken a fondness to Feyre after their shared understanding during the dinner two nights ago, so perhaps it wasn’t too surprising. He started to open his mouth to argue with me, but I held up a hand to gesture him to stop.

“The test,” I explained simply, “will be to see if Feyre can identify the object of mine in the Weaver’s trove. When we get to the Summer Court, Tarquin might have spelled his half of the Book to look different, feel different.”

Mor couldn’t contain herself anymore, “By the Cauldron, Rhys,” she snapped at me, “Are you out of your-“

Feyre interrupted her, “Who is the Weaver?”

Azriel, who was still making up his mind about Feyre in general – always cautious, sometimes overly so - was equally unhappy with my plan regardless. He looked towards Feyre and answered her, “An ancient, wicked creature.” 

He looked back at me sharply, “Who should remain unbothered. Find another way to test her abilities.” 

My plan was dangerous and reckless – and it could be done in a thousand different ways, all likely safer. However while they all thought I had chosen this task for selfish reasons – and I would not lie to myself, there was a selfish reason for this – it was _not_ my only goal, not even my first goal. Mor had told me that I had to help Feyre find a reason to live, to fight – and I had done that, and she had accepted. But on my own I had realized that she needed to realize that she _could_ fight, that she was powerful and clever and could face down any adversary. The problem was, I could tell her until I was blue in the face, and she would never believe me – or any of us for that matter. The only way that she could learn this, was to do it.

But I would not force her, it was her choice. Always.

I simply shrugged at them, and looked to her, and she knew that I was not going to force her.

And once again I could tell, even as she gnawed on her lower lip, that she did not feel any fear in the face of this new challenge – though she had felt it in the face of the Bone Carver and faced it down. I did not think she had forgotten what that fear felt like, no... looking her over, I realized she looked bone-deep exhausted, and I think she did not have the energy for fear. She needed sleep and food, and far more time than we had for her to recover fully.

With a shrug of her shoulders she said calmly, “The Bone Carver, the Weaver… Can’t you ever just call someone by a given name?”

Cassian chuckled, while Mor settled back into the couch with a sigh of resignation.

Azriel had retreated into his shadows once more, his face blank as he watched us.

I studied her and decided on my final plan, I had been toying with the idea in the back of my head, but when the first attempt at the Bone Carver had failed, I had discarded it – having been convinced I had broken her. Now though, even as tired as she was… I knew she could do this.

Leaning forward, “What about adding one more name to that list?”

Mor finally tossed her hands in the air, “What the hell Rhys?”

I ignored her and smiled, “Emissary. Emissary to the Night Court – for the human realm.”

Mor gaped at me. 

Azriel arched a brow and said, “There hasn’t been one for five hundred years, Rhys.” 

I smirked at him, “There also hasn’t been a human-turned-immortal since then, either.” Looking back at Feyre I explained to her, “The human world must be as prepared as we are – especially if the King of Hybern plans to shatter the Wall and unleash his forces upon them. We need the other half of the Book from those mortal Queens – and if we can’t use magic to influence them, then they’re going to have to bring it to us.”

Silence.

I jerked my chin at her, “You are an immortal faerie – with a human heart. Even as such, you might very well set foot on the continent and be… hunted for it. So we set up a base in neutral territory. In a place where humans trust us – trust _you_ , Feyre. And where other humans might risk going to meet with you. To hear the voice of Prythian after five centuries.”

She understood then, and whispered, “My family’s estate.”

Cassian’s wings flared in shock, “Mother’s tits, Rhys,” and Feyre, who was still staring at me, flinched a little when his wings knocked over a ceramic vase on the table next to him. “You think we can just take over her family’s house, demand that of them?”

I didn’t look away from her, it would be her choice, and I needed her to understand that from me – this was her family, her sisters, and it was her choice.

Mor leaned over to lift the vase back up as she spoke to Cassian, “The land will run red with blood Cassian, regardless of what we do with her family. It is now a matter of where that blood will flow – and how much will spill. How much human blood we can save.”

Feyre swallowed, and whispered quietly, “The Spring Court borders the Wall-“

I interrupted her, understanding her trepidation, and the old rage at Tamlin surged - but I kept my voice quiet and calm, “The Wall stretches across the sea. We’ll fly in offshore. I won’t risk discovery from any court, though word might spread quickly enough once we’re there. I know it won’t be easy Feyre, but if there’s any way you could convince those Queens-“ 

This time Feyre interrupted me, her voice which had been a mere whisper a second ago was now calm and determined, “I’ll do it.” Her chin tilted up a little, “They might not be happy about it, but I’ll make Elain and Nesta do it.”

I nodded, smiling warmly at her, proud of her beyond words. “Then it’s settled.” Glancing around the room I could tell the rest of them were not particularly happy, but they were resigned to the situation. “Once Feyre darling returns from the Weaver, we’ll bring Hybern to its knees.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This endeavor is my first ever fanfiction attempt, and it has been a blast to play with so far.
> 
> I would love to see your comments about what I'm writing!
> 
> So please hit me up with what you think! - Otter


	4. To Forgive but Never Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.
> 
> I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.
> 
> This Section:  
> Ch. 1 - Rhysand's unsuccessful attempt to take Feyre to the Bone Carver  
> Ch. 2 - Rhysand's successful attempt to take Feyre to the Bone Carver  
> Ch. 3 - Debriefing the family and making plans  
> Ch. 4 - Cassian and Rhysand have it out (New Scene)  
> Ch. 5 - Rhysand dreams of his mother and preps Feyre to visit the Weaver  
> Ch. 6 - Rhysand takes Feyre to the Weaver ***TRIGGER WARNING*** (Mention of noncon/forced - memory of Amarantha)
> 
> *Note: I wanted to write a scene where Rhysand had to face one of his friend's emotions over the time he spent Under the Mountain; Cassian seemed like a good test subject.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.

Azriel rose shortly after my declaration, glancing at Mor once, then nodded to me, and disappeared into shadow.

Feyre, looking completely wiped, simply stood and made her way upstairs – moments later I saw Cerridwen climb the stairs after her. I hoped Feyre would eat some dinner tonight… I hope she would be able to keep it down. I hoped she would have no nightmares… I hoped. 

Glancing towards Mor and I could tell she wanted to talk to me, argue with me more likely – and I wanted to have a little talk with her about the plan she had cooked up with the amulet and Amren, but I could feel the weight of Cassian’s gaze on me.

Reaching out, I brushed a thought across Mor’s mind: _It’s Cassian’s turn._

Mor shifted her gaze to study Cassian, then nodded once acquiescing her access to me for tonight.

Standing up, I gestured at Cassian, who studied me, then stood and followed me. We made our way up to the roof, where I spread and stretched my wings. Glancing back at him I smirked and taunted, “First one to the Valley is the better bastard.”

He grinned, white teeth flashing in the dark light, and spread his wings, shooting up into the sky. I followed after him only seconds behind, and we soared through the air, catching the currents. Twisting and swooping, our wings beating hard and fast, the wind tearing past us. We fought for every inch of lead as we made our way to the Valley that dipped behind the mountain that harbored the House of Wind.

Minutes later, we both dove hard and fast, but Cassian pushed the lead and landed first on the cold, frozen ground, only seconds before me.

Letting out a chuckle I said, “Looks like you beat me again, bastard.”

Cassian smirked at me, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face as he tucked his wings in tight against his back. I mimicked him, tucking my wings in tight and shaking my head, to get my hair out of my face.

Then we stared at each other, and I could feel the chasm between us – filled with grief and guilt, frustration and anger, and love – so much love.

Cassian’s gaze darkened and narrowed as he continued to stare at me, and I could see how his body stiffened, his muscles flexing as all of the emotions he had held so hard in check, were bubbling up inside of him.

“Cassian…” I began, trying to think of the words to help him.

And he lunged at me, swinging his fist and slugging me hard across my jaw, surprising me and successfully knocking me backwards a few steps – my wings spreading and flapping to catch me; the only thing that stopped me from falling on my ass.

“You’re a right _bastard_ ,” Cassian snarled at me, his hands curled into fists so tight his knuckles were white.

Wincing a little from the pain, I reached up to rub my jaw and stare at him.

“You’re a selfish, self-sacrificing asshole, and I should beat your ass for what you did!” He stood there, breathing hard, his body quivering with pent up emotion.

I said nothing for several minutes, then spread my arms and said, “If that is what you need to do to forgive me – I won’t stop you.”

That only seemed to piss him off more and he stalked closer to me, “Of _course_ you will, you’ll let me pound your ass, sacrifice your body, your mind, even your fucking soul if it helps _me_ , because that’s what you _do._ You give and give and give and don’t consider how your choices affect _anyone_ else!”

His words felt like another punch to the face and I felt myself growing angry, and I snarled back, “That’s _all_ I do! I spend every moment of every damn day worrying about every damn decision I have to make! And when I am _not_ worrying about my decisions, I am trying to handle the _guilt_ from those same damn decisions!”

We were both breathing hard, glaring at each with fire and rage, and he growled low in his throat, “If you had trusted us with your plan to kill Amarantha, one of us could have gone with you – we could have stopped you from drinking that wine – you would have _never_ lost your powers, and we-“ his voice broke, and he swallowed past the knot in his throat, “we would not have lost you for _fifty years._ ”

And the anger rushed out of me, leaving me feeling cold and empty.

He took another step closer; we were almost touching – and it was obvious the anger was still boiling in him, his body was rigid with it, but his hazel eyes were filled with nothing but grief.

“You left us! You left us, and you forced us to do _nothing._ You bound our hands and we had to watch as the world descended into chaos, we had to hear the rumors of what was happening Under the Mountain, what was happening to _you._ ” He drew in a shuddering breath, “And you didn’t consider any of that, you didn’t consider how it broke our hearts, how your decision tortured _us_ for fifty years! We’re family! We are supposed to _fight_ for each other, and you – YOU abandoned _us._ ”

I swallowed hard, my heart constricting painfully, and I shook my head slowly. “Cassian…” I shook my head again, and took a breath, “you’re wrong.”

His eyes flashed with anger again and he opened his mouth to argue, but I reached up, resting my hands on his shoulders and said quietly.

“Cassian, she _killed_ half of the Night Court in one blow that night, and there was _nothing_ I could do to stop her. I’m the most powerful High Lord _ever_ and _I_ could not stop her, I could not protect them. She had the combined power of all _seven_ High Lords! The only one of us who might have been able to stand against her was Amren, and she was also the only one of us I _knew_ stood a chance – a chance mind you! - of holding Velaris if an attack came from Amarantha or Hybern. I knew all of you would fight, with everything you had, and I knew all of you would die. And I couldn’t… I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t risk you.”

He shoved my hands off of my shoulders and roared at me, “If you had told us your plan, we could have stopped any of it from happening! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL US!?” His breathing was hard and ragged, and he looked ready to explode with anger.

I stared at him and said simply, “Because it was my burden to bear.”

And abruptly all of his rage and anger flooded out of him and he spun around and walked a few steps away, still breathing hard, his hands still clenched into fists at his side; but not with rage. It was guilt that pulsed through him now and threatened to engulf him.

We were both quiet for several long moments, with me staring at his back, uncertain how to repair the damage between us, uncertain if it even could be. 

“You, and Azriel, and Mor, and Amren… and Feyre, are the only family I have.” I heard him say quietly and the shock of hearing him include Feyre washed through me, like an icy wave. I remembered the look he had given me earlier, remembered that he had figured it out – and already he had accepted her as family. “They took me from my mother, they dropped me in the mud, they left me in the cold. I had nothing and no one.”

He turned slowly to stare at me again, his breathing calm and his hands relaxed. “You, and your mother taught me what a family was. You taught me about love and loyalty, sacrifice and honor. You shared with me everything you had and asked nothing in return. I owe you everything that I am, and yet you see no debt between us.” He shook his head and walked back towards me, standing close and he stared at me.

“You raised me up from nothing, you made me your friend, your brother, your comrade, your General. And yet, you did not trust me to fight at your side when you needed it most. You say it’s because it was your burden to bear, but what about my burden Rhys? It is my job to protect you – yes, you’re the most powerful High Lord ever, but you are not invulnerable.“ He fell silent for a moment, his eyes bright with unshed tears, then he said with a voice filled with such terrible grief, “You did not trust me.” And I could see how that belief was crushing him, killing him inside. 

I swallowed hard then said quietly, “Cassian… there is no debt between us, there never has been. You have it all backwards. You all made _me_ who I am. My mother took me to the camps to keep me out of my father’s grip, because she did not want me to become like him, but it was you four who taught me about friendship, strength and perseverance, defiance and kindness, sacrifice and loyalty. The world thinks I am evil and cruel, and if it hadn’t been for all of you that mask is who I could have become – and I would have been worse than Amarantha in the end.”

I gestured briefly, “I _do_ trust you, with my life, with the life of everyone in the Circle, with the life and safety of every person in my lands. I did not go to face Amarantha alone because I believed you would fail me.” I swallowed hard, my chest tight, “I went alone… because I feared I would fail you. All of you. And if I did, if I did not succeed in defeating Amarantha, then I needed to know you would be safe – because I trusted you to defend my people after I was gone.”

Cassian’s face went blank as he stared at me for a long, long moment. The cold night air swirled around us, and for the first time I noticed there was snow falling, sticking to the ground at our feet.

“Rhysand,” he began, stopped, then started again. “Rhys…” And he suddenly grabbed me, pulling me into a tight, bone crushing hug, and I found my arms wrapped around him, hugging him back just as tightly.

When he finally let me go, his hands resting on my shoulders this time, staring at me. “Rhys, you have never failed us. Not me, or any of us. Pissed us off, sure.” He grinned a little at me and I couldn’t help but smile back, though I felt tired, drained to my core. “But you have never, _never_ failed us.”

He took a breath, let it out, and said, “You made a decision, to take on Amarantha alone, and whether or not it was a good decision, it was made with good intentions. That being said…” He stared hard at me, the warrior, the General in him coming out to challenge me, to demand from me everything I had to give – not as High Lord, but as a warrior. “Don’t you _ever_ pull that bullshit again. Tell us the truth. We will push you Rhys, we will argue, and guilt you and threaten you, because we love you. But we serve at your pleasure – you are our High Lord. If you order us to stay behind, we will – because we _know_ you have everyone’s best interests in mind. Just tell us the truth.”

I stared at him, and then nodded once, “I will.” Yet… A part of me knew there could come a day when I would have to break that promise – to keep them safe.

For those I loved, I would sacrifice. Everything. Even their trust in me in the end.

He grinned at me, and let go of my shoulders, crossing his arms as he eyed me mischievously. “So, when are you going to make a move on Feyre?”

I let out a groan, “I swear to the Mother, you all are going to be the death of me.”

He smirked, “Are you going to try and tell me you’re not interested?”

I glared at him. 

His smirk widened, “’Cause if you’re not I might be…”

A low snarl escaped me, and he laughed.

“Thought so.”

I exhaled sharply, still glaring at him, “You’re a right bastard, you know that?” I said, echoing his earlier comment.

He chuckled, “True.” Then his face darkened, “Rhys, the Weaver is a bad idea. She’s not ready to face something like that, hell she still looks half dead – if it wasn’t for the fact that you deserve to kill Tamlin more than me, I’m of a mind to march down to Spring Court and skin the bastard alive.”

Rage boiled up in me almost instantaneously, thinking of Tamlin, of everything he had done to me, and my family… to Feyre _._ I took a long breath and let it out, forcing my rage back down before I said, “Feyre is stronger than you realize, than she realizes, and that is one of the reasons I am taking her to the Weaver. She needs to see what she is capable of. It’s not something any of us can tell her, she won’t believe it, trust me… I’ve tried.”

He stared at me, long and hard before he said, “You really think she is the one Rhys? Centuries you have left the Weaver alone, you haven’t gone after it, or sent anyone before…”

I met his gaze for a moment, then looked away from him, watching the snow dancing and swirling around us.

“She’s the one,” was all I said even as my heart squeezed tightly in silent agreement.

My reasons for taking Feyre to the Weaver were valid, but they were also total bullshit. Yes, verifying that Feyre could locate an item with the energy signature of a High Lord would be useful, but even if she couldn’t we would still be going to the Summer Court to look for the Book – it would just be harder to find. And yes, I wanted Feyre to face the fact that she _could_ fight, that she was clever and resourceful, and facing off against an opponent who would do her harm would be a sure-fire way of insuring that she figured that out.

The honest truth however was that I wanted Feyre to be the one. I knew she was my Mate, and that I loved her - there wasn’t an ounce of doubt in my body, in my soul about that. But I had made a promise, centuries before, and I was going to keep it – even if I honestly had no hope that Feyre would ever want me. I was going to keep this promise.

And I knew it made me a selfish bastard, yet I could not dampen the burgeoning hope and excitement inside of me.

Cassian just shook his head, letting out a sigh and dropped his arms. “Well, just make sure neither of you are killed tomorrow. That would really ruin my day.”

I let out a low chuckle, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He smirked at me and spread his wings out, “I’m for bed, and you look dead on your feet. Go home you bastard.” Beating his wings, he launched into the sky, scattering the snow around him.

I watched him until the darkness and snow obscured him completely, then continued to watch the snow falling for several minutes after – the heavy clouds obscured the night sky, but the snow was just as lovely. My body was cold, and my hands were freezing, but after everything that had happened today, this was a moment of such quiet peace that I savored it. 

It couldn’t last though, it never did. My mind turned to Feyre; I always retreated to her in the end. She was my sanctuary and my torment, and I lived and died by mere inches in the shadow of her soul.

The truths she had told the Bone Carver today… The slivers of her soul she had offered up beat a destructive path through my mind.

_…I just wanted enough time to turn that dagger on myself…_

I felt my heart turn as frozen as the ground beneath my feet.

I had known she felt this way, I had seen her dreams, but to _hear_ her say it… In fifty years Under the Mountain I had not experienced anything close to this level of torture. Amarantha, for all of her cruelty and malice, had not been capable of causing me this much pain.

Ironic that the greatest torture I was ever to face would always be at the hands of the woman I loved.

She was my destruction.

And she was my salvation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This endeavor is my first ever fanfiction attempt, and it has been a blast to play with so far.
> 
> I would love to see your comments about what I'm writing!
> 
> So please hit me up with what you think! - Otter


	5. A Promise To Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.
> 
> I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.
> 
> This Section:  
> Ch. 1 - Rhysand's unsuccessful attempt to take Feyre to the Bone Carver  
> Ch. 2 - Rhysand's successful attempt to take Feyre to the Bone Carver  
> Ch. 3 - Debriefing the family and making plans  
> Ch. 4 - Cassian and Rhysand have it out (New Scene)  
> Ch. 5 - Rhysand dreams of his mother and preps Feyre to visit the Weaver  
> Ch. 6 - Rhysand takes Feyre to the Weaver ***TRIGGER WARNING*** (Mention of noncon/forced - memory of Amarantha)
> 
> *Note: I wanted to write a scene where Rhysand had to face one of his friend's emotions over the time he spent Under the Mountain; Cassian seemed like a good test subject.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.

_I was standing in the main room of the small house my brothers and I shared with my mother in the Illyrian camp._

_My mother was standing in front of me, and I realized how much taller I was than her now. She had always seemed like a mountain, regal and taller than everyone around her. Nothing had changed in that regard, she was not diminished, but I found myself looking down into her eyes, instead of gazing up. When had that happened? I couldn’t remember._

_My body still ached from the trials of the Blood Rite, the brutal environment and the bloody fighting had left me tired and sore and had taken from me the glory of combat. It had been one thing to train year after year to fight, it was another thing entirely to kill someone, especially someone I had known and trained with – and it did not matter that they hated me, that they had tried to kill me first. I had learned the truth about death and killing – that there was no glory in it and always a price, and it was extracted from your soul - an innocence and freedom you could never reclaim._

_We had survived though, my brothers and I, we had survived together, because of each other. We now bore the marks of our victory, blue-black tattoos etched upon our chests and shoulders. We had been marked as Illyrian warriors – two bastards and a half-breed._

_“Rhysand,” my mother said to me, her voice quiet and melodic, “You are full grown now.” There was a glint of something in her eyes, it wasn’t tears… it was love, and pride… and grief. I only realized later, much later, that she had long mourned this day, when I would no longer be a child. That from this day forward my life would always be wreathed in darkness and danger._

_She had held out her hand to me, “Give me the ring.”_

_I had stared at her in shock. Years before she had given me a ring, small and delicate with twisted strands of gold and silver, flecked with pearl and set with a stone of deepest sapphire – the points of a six-pointed star radiating across the round, opaque surface. It was a family heirloom of hers, passed down from mother to daughter, generation after generation. My mother had no daughter, only a beloved son, and she had given it to me so I would always know that she loved me and was with me. I had carried this ring at my side, year after bloody year in the Illyrian camp while training._

_I could not fathom why she was asking for it._

_But I unhooked the front of my leather shirt, and reached inside to an inner pocket, pulling out the small ring, and placing it lightly in her hand. She closed her fingers over it, and gave me a small, sad smile._

_“The next time you see this ring again son, it will be in the hands of the woman you are to marry,” I stared at her, shocked. “And you will know who that woman is to be, when she retrieves it from the Weaver.”_

_I froze, it felt like all of the blood had drained out of me._

_“Mother…” I began and fell silent at one look from her._

_“Rhysand, you will come across many women who will want to marry you – for your title, your wealth, your looks. These women will not survive you, they will not survive the darkness in which you will always be forced to live.” She reached up to touch the side of my face lightly with her empty hand, “Any woman who dares to claim you as hers will have to be as strong as you, in mind and body, and soul, and she will not care about your title, your wealth or your looks – she will want nothing beyond who are,” she lowered her hand and touched a finger to my chest, “in here. She will see beyond the masks you will always be forced to wear.”_

_She smiled at me then, a smile born of the wild freedom of the infinite sky that called to her._

_“Love is hard, Rhysand. Love will require you to make sacrifices. It will require you to fight, but also to yield. Love means trusting someone, not just with your heart, but theirs as well.” Her eyes looked deep into mine before she told me at last, “Love will demand that you kneel before it.”_

_I swallowed hard._

_She lifted her hand, the ring still cupped within it, “When you find that woman, the one you believe is your equal in all things, send her to retrieve this. If she is clever and brave and powerful then she will not fail. If you do not believe she can succeed, then she is not the one.”_

_“Promise me.” She had demanded._

_And I had._

\- - - ~*~ - - - 

I woke with a start – shivering from the dream - while not unpleasant, any dreams about my mother always left me feeling hollow with ancient grief. Glancing to the window I saw the sun just cresting over the top of the mountains that warded one side of Velaris. I had not slept long, arriving home late last night, nearly frozen, to find the house empty of everyone except Feyre, safe and sleeping. Surprisingly, considering the events of yesterday, it would seem that my sleep had been peaceful, and as a result my body felt invigorated. In fact, I felt jittery with nervous excitement that was building in me steadily.

Sitting up slowly, the blankets gathering around my waist, I rested my arms on my knees and stared across the room at nothing. Today was going to be dangerous and difficult. There was genuine terror inside of myself at the thought of Feyre facing the Weaver, it went against every fiber of my being to place her in danger – the Mating bond called out for me to protect, to defend my Mate. But I was _not_ Tamlin, I would not lock her up, I would not deny her freedom, no matter what my instincts screamed for me to do. My mother had been right, love meant trusting someone with my heart, but with theirs as well – I trusted her to make the right decisions for herself. Her choice, always her choice. 

My wild mother, she had been made of wind and sky, and everything I knew of love I learned from her. The ancient grief at her loss still ached inside of me, I knew it would never fade, but today… today I would fulfill a promise to her. I knew Feyre was the one, and even if Feyre never wore my mother’s ring... it was still hers, just as I was, and I wanted her to claim it, and I knew in my bones she would be successful. I would carry it with me, my mother’s ring, Feyre’s ring, every day for the rest of my life, holding it in trust for her – I did not deserve her, and she was not mine, but I would always hope.

Letting out a breath, I threw back the covers and slid out of bed, stretching slowly, feeling my muscles go taut, and then release. I walked to my armoire, pulling out another set of Illyrian leathers and began dressing for the day. It felt like every movement, every heartbeat, my anticipation continued to build, until my breathing was coming fast, and even my hands were shaking slightly. I longed to wake Feyre, I wouldn’t though – she needed her sleep, but I was so ready to go, to see her conquer the Weaver, to conquer worlds.

Dressed, and my weapons once again strapped in place, I retrieved a spare dagger harness, then left my bedroom and stood outside of Feyre’s door and listened hard.

She was still sleeping, and I nearly groaned in disappointment – even though I knew how early it was. Letting out a quiet sigh, I forced myself to be patient and thought about heading down stairs for breakfast, or tea… and I could care less about either of those things. I should be hungry, I hadn’t eaten yesterday at all, but my stomach was too knotted up with fear and excitement to even consider eating.

I took to pacing the hallway instead with slow, silent steps, hands clasped behind my back, still holding the dagger harness. I felt as though my senses were electric as I focused entirely on the peacefully slumbering Feyre, and I swore I could count her breaths, even through the door. They were quiet and shallow, and she did not toss or turn, restless only in her nightmares it would seem. I wondered what she looked like, if she slept curled on her side, or sprawled out, her elegant limbs stretched across the bed. I could imagine her brown-gold hair twisted over the pillows, her full lips parted with her quiet breaths… Not for the first time, I imagined what it would be like to trace the curve of those full lips, so soft and tempting, with the tip of my finger, of my tongue, to feel them against my own…

My heart was pounding a disjointed rhythm, almost lost in the fantasy when I heard her breathing catch, and then deepen with a long sigh as she rolled in bed. A breathy moan of pleasure as she stretched, hearing the mattress sigh beneath her as she moved. I froze, listening to her, and trying to still my throbbing heart, before the next thing I knew I was at her door, knocking sharply once - twice. 

“Feyre, may I enter?” I called out to her – not wanting her to think I was Nuala or Cerridwen and grant access before she was ready.

A moment of silence, less in trepidation I thought and more because she wasn’t fully awake, which seemed to be confirmed when I heard her response.

“Mm… yes?” Was her quiet reply, more of a question than an answer, but I was too impatient to wait until she could wake up further.

Opening her door and stepped inside, my breath catching at the sight of her – she looked much like I had imagined, stretched out along her back, her tattooed left arm stretched up over her head, her long hair tangled over the pillows and her arm, and her deep gray-blue eyes peering at me through barely open slits. She was glorious. Radiant.

I swallowed and tossed the dagger harness on the end of her bed, startling her into further wakefulness, then crossed to her armoire, tossing it open and digging into it.

“Hurry,” I told her with a voice husky with desires I wasn’t sure I wanted to admit to. Finding her Illyrian leathers, I tugged them out and tossed them onto the bed as well. “I want to be gone before the sun is fully up.”

She pushed herself up on her arms, blinking at me, brows furrowed slightly in confusion, “Why?”

I dug around until I found her boots, and a pair of socks, tossing them to the floor at the side of the bed as she flipped back the covers and swung her legs over the side.

“Because,” I explained, and tried not to look at her too much lest she stop my breathing entirely and I pass out in front of her. “Time is of the essence. Once the King of Hybern realizes that someone is searching for the Book of Breathings to nullify the powers of the Cauldron, then his agents will begin hunting for it, too.”

And it wasn’t a lie. It also was not why I was in a nearly fevered rush.

“You suspected this for a while, though.” She said, frowning at me a little, “The Cauldron, the King, the Book… You wanted it confirmed, but you were waiting for me.”

The last part almost seemed like a question, like she still couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea that she was needed, useful. I turned finally to face her, and my heart pounded while I couldn’t but help notice how the shirt she wore had ridden up slightly in sleep, exposing a slash of stomach and creamy skin that made my skin go hot and tight.

“Had you agreed to work with me two months ago,” I told her honestly, my eyes continuing to devour the sight of her, lingering over her messy hair as she ran her fingers through it, pushing it out of her face. “I would have taken you right to the Bone Carver to see if he confirmed my suspicions about your talents. But things didn’t go as planned.” Her eyes darkened a little at that, even as her skin went a little paler somehow.

She stood up and slipped her feet into the slippers at the side of her bed, and I was suddenly reminded of her at the Night Court palace on the mountain, sitting in a chair in the library, reading, with her bare feet catching the warm sunlight…

“The reading,” she said, as though she could almost catch the tenor of my thoughts. “That’s why you insisted on the lessons. So if your suspicions were true and I could harness the Book… I could actually read it – or any translation of whatever is inside.”

I smiled at her, proud of how her mind was piecing together the everything that had happened.

“Again,” I said as I walked to her dresser, not sure what else she might need in order to get ready, but too excited to continue to stand still and needing something to distract me from just staring at her like a starving man, “had you started to work with me, I would have told you why. I couldn’t risk discovery otherwise.” I reached up, placing my hand on the knob of the drawer, but hesitated a minute, “You should have learned to read no matter what.” I glanced over my shoulder at her, “But yes, when I told you it served my own purposes – it was because of this. Do you blame me for it?” 

She studied me for a moment, then shook her head, “No.” Then arched a brow at me, “But I’d prefer to be notified of any future schemes.”

I smirked a little, “Duly noted.”

Then yanked open the drawer and looked down and nearly felt my knees buckle – and as though possessed, I reached one hand into the drawer and withdrew a pair of midnight blue lace undergarments, the feel of them silky in my hand. My mind fractured – one part immediately imagining what she would look like wearing them, what it would feel like to run my fingers over the lace as I caressed her body – the other part of my mind going into survival mode in order to distract her, or was it myself? From those thoughts.

“I’m surprised,” I said with a voice gone husky, “you didn’t demand Nuala and Cerridwen buy you something else.”

I didn’t even hear her approach, all I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears.

She snatched the lace out of my hands though, and when I looked at her there were slashes of red coloring across her cheeks, flushed with embarrassment and anger. 

“You’re drooling on the carpet,” She snapped angrily, then spun and stomped into her bath room, slamming the door behind her.

I just stared after her and tried to remember how to breath.

Feyre…

My fingers tingled with the need to touch her.

Closing my eyes, I swallowed, trying to calm down my body that felt close to shattering.

When I no longer felt like I was going to fall apart, I opened my eyes and walked over to her bed, picking up the dagger harness, then stood back against one wall and waited for her.

When she finally came back out, dressed in the fur-lined leather, the angry blush had mostly faded, but her eyes were still dark and unreadable.

And damn my mind, I couldn't help but thing -  _she is wearing that lace under the leathers._

I was surprised I didn't catch on fire.

I held up the dagger belt and she inspected it, then looked up at me as I explained, “No swords, no bow or arrows.”

I walked across the room to stand in front of her.

“But knives are fine?” She asked, curious.

I stared into her gray-blue eyes, then knelt before her.

_Love will demand that you kneel before it._

She didn’t know my thoughts, she didn’t know what I had dreamed of last night, or my mother’s words – she didn’t know what it meant that I knelt before her now. How, in this one simple movement, even covered up beneath an act of necessity, I was surrendering everything that I was to her.

_My Feyre._

I stretched out the web of leather and tapped lightly on her left calf, indicating she should lift her leg, and slid one loop of the harness over her leg, repeating the action with her right leg. Sliding the harness up over the length of her legs while focusing hard, harder than I had on anything in my life, to keep my breathing steady, even. The feel of her beneath my hands however, the subtle curve and dips of her legs, it drove me insane – to touch her and yet be so far removed from actually touching her skin. I wasn’t sure I would survive this moment, sure that my heart would finally give out on me with its disjointed rhythm.

I began tightening the straps, and tried to remember what she had asked… something about the knives… being allowed?

“She will not notice a knife,” I explained quietly, fingers brushing over the inside of her thighs, and over her hips, worshipping her with each light touch, “as she has knives in her cottage for eating and her work. But things that are out of place – objects that have not been there… A sword, a bow and arrow… She might sense those things.”

Glancing up, I saw her brows furrow, “What about me?”

The harness was already adjusted enough, it would not slip, but I couldn’t convince my hands to stop touching her and I ran over the straps and buckles over and over – and she either didn’t notice or… or she did not mind.

The thought made my heart squeeze painfully.

“Do not make a sound, do not touch _anything_ but the object she took from me.” I explained as my hands settled on her thighs finally, going still, just touching her, holding her, as I looked up at her again.

She went quiet, staring down at her, and something flashed across her eyes – a memory I thought. I had once made Tamlin bow and kneel… grovel for me, to save her – though she did not know that. She had hated me for it, I saw it in her eyes that day, felt it in her thoughts. Yet here I was now, kneeling for her, only for her - and not because she commanded it of me, but because I willingly chose to surrender to her, because of my love for her.

A brief smile touched my lips as I went on in my explanation, keeping my hands on her still, “If we’re correct about your powers, if the Bone Carver wasn’t lying to us, then you and the object will have the same… imprint, thanks to the preserving spells I placed on it long ago. You are one and the same. She will not notice your presence so long as you touch _only_ it. You will be invisible to her.”

Her head tilted slightly, “She’s blind?”

I nodded once, “But her other senses are lethal. So be quick, and quiet. Find the object, and run out, Feyre.”

“And if she notices me?”

My fingers tightened around her legs lightly, that terror rising up in me again, the Mating bond pounding a rhythm inside of me – protect, protect, protect – but my love for her countered it with ease. Feyre was her own person, she was clever and powerful, and most importantly, she was free. It was her choice to do this, and I knew she would succeed.

I shrugged, "Then we'll learn precisely how skilled you are."

She glared at me.

I arched a brow at her response, and decided to remind her that she chose this – to be here, to help us, to fight. It was perhaps, slightly cruel, but she needed to remember, always, that every step we took was at her choice.

“Would you rather I locked you in the House of Wind and stuffed you with food and made you wear fine clothes and plan my parties?”

And though I kept my voice light, teasing, I could remember how she had looked when Mor carried her out of the Spring Court, broken and lost, so light and pale, she had looked nearly dead. I would kill myself by inches before I would ever, _ever_ do that to her.

“Go to hell.” She snapped at me, the angry flush spreading over her cheeks again. “Why not get this object yourself, if it’s so important?”

 _Because_ , I thought only to myself, _it’s yours to collect, only ever yours._

I couldn’t tell her that though, I honestly did not believe I would ever get to tell her. Instead, a half-truth became a necessity.

“Because the Weaver knows me – and if I am caught, there would be a steep price. High Lords are not to interfere with her, no matter the direness of the situation.” It was recommended that we leave her be, it was recommended that everyone leave her be for that matter, but if one of us dared challenge her there would be no trial… likely there would be only a funeral, and one without a body. The thought sent a cold chill down my spine, and I had to work to keep my breathing even. “There are many treasures in her hoard, some she has kept for millennia. Most will never be retrieved – because the High Lords do not dare be caught, thanks to the laws that protect her, thanks to her wrath. Any thieves on their behalf… Either they do not return, or they are never sent, for fear of it leading back to their High Lord. But you… She does not know you.” I smiled up at her slightly, “You belong to every court.”

_And are subject to none of them._

She looked at me with disbelief, “So I’m your huntress and thief?”

Remembering my thoughts from last night, I slid my hands down from her thighs to cup to the back of her knees and managed a mischievous grin in order to lessen the impact of this truth.

“You are my salvation, Feyre.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This endeavor is my first ever fanfiction attempt, and it has been a blast to play with so far.
> 
> I would love to see your comments about what I'm writing!
> 
> So please hit me up with what you think! - Otter


	6. The Wicked Webs We Weave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.
> 
> I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.
> 
> This Section:  
> Ch. 1 - Rhysand's unsuccessful attempt to take Feyre to the Bone Carver  
> Ch. 2 - Rhysand's successful attempt to take Feyre to the Bone Carver  
> Ch. 3 - Debriefing the family and making plans  
> Ch. 4 - Cassian and Rhysand have it out (New Scene)  
> Ch. 5 - Rhysand dreams of his mother and preps Feyre to visit the Weaver  
> Ch. 6 - Rhysand takes Feyre to the Weaver ***TRIGGER WARNING*** (Mention of noncon/forced - memory of Amarantha)
> 
> *Note: I wanted to write a scene where Rhysand had to face one of his friend's emotions over the time he spent Under the Mountain; Cassian seemed like a good test subject.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.

I had still been unable to consider eating anything, but I made sure Feyre had something to eat before we left. Her body was still so drained, she had no energy in reserve, and she would need her strength for today. When she had finished tucking back a plate of food, and her morning cup of tea – an act that made my heart race again to watch – she glanced at the empty table in front of me and arched a brow in silent question. 

I didn’t answer.

Instead asking if she was ready, and when she said she was, I rose and walked around the table to her. She had stood, and walked into the circle of my arms, more confident and trusting each time she did it.

Calling up the darkness, I winnowed us across the world to the ancient woods that divided the Solar Courts from the Seasonal Courts, and housed the sacred mountain that Amarantha had held her court under.

These woods… they were a living entity. Unlike any other place in Prythian, the ground, the trees, the very air was alive with power and… malevolence. There were things in these woods, things you did not wish to disturb, and the Weaver topped nearly all of them. And here I was, leading my Mate directly to her.

I was a selfish bastard.

“Where are we?” Feyre asked in a whisper as she stepped out of the shelter of my arms.

I kept my hands open and arms loose as I scanned the woods carefully, looking for any direct forms of danger. Glancing at her I answered back quietly, “In the heart of Prythian, there is a large, empty territory that divides the North and the South. At the center of it is our sacred mountain.”

I saw her face blanch before I began to lead her quietly through the enormous, ancient trees and the thick ferns, our feet crossing over damp moss and through entangling roots.

“This forest,” I continued, further answering her question, “is on the eastern edge of that neutral territory. Here, there is no High Lord. Here, the law is made by who is strongest, meanest, most cunning. And the Weaver of the Wood is at the top of their food chain.”

The woods were eerily silent, no bird calls or hum of insects, in fact there were no signs of any animals at all – no foot prints, or dens dug – it was as though the forest was completely empty. The only sounds at all were our quiet breathing, the whisper of our footfalls, and the groaning of the trees around us – though there was no wind to cause the branches to sway. I wasn’t sure how it was possible in the open expanse of the forest, but the air felt tight and stale, and at times I felt it was difficult to fill my lungs at all.

“Amarantha… didn’t wipe them out?” Feyre asked quietly, choking a little around her name. 

I frowned slightly at the memory, “Amarantha was no fool. She did not touch these creatures or disturb the wood.” I sighed a little and held a branch aside for Feyre to walk past, taking the brief moment of stillness on my part to scan the woods behind us. “For years, I tried to find ways to manipulate her to make that foolish mistake, but she never bought it.”

Feyre paused to look at me, almost incredulous, “And now we’re disturbing her – for a mere test.”

I chuckled humorlessly, and continued to lead her on, “Cassian tried to convince me last night not to take you. I thought he might even punch me.”

I glanced at her in time to see the look of confusion on her face, “Why?”

I shrugged, “Who knows?” Though I knew why – Cassian had decided she was family. He would have protected her without that decision, but with it he would not just protect her, he would advocate for her, above and beyond the call of duty.

Glancing at her again, I saw the pinched look on her face. Not a look of fear but rather doubt, in herself and her abilities. I decided to distract her from such thoughts; imagining her failure would guarantee it – and if she wouldn’t believe me when I told her what she was capable of, I could at least insure her thoughts were on something else.

“With Cassian, he’s probably more interested in fucking you than protecting you.”

She froze for a second, then her cheeks turned red again, embarrassed and angry and so, so beautiful. “You’re a pig.” 

I smirked at her, taunting, “You could, you know. If you needed to move on in a physical sense, I’m sure Cassian would be more than happy to oblige.” And in any other scenario, he probably would have been game to tumble into bed with her – but he had figured out what she was to me, and he would never do that to me, even if she was the one to approach him.

Her next words however, threatened to destroy me.

“Then tell him to come to my room tonight,” she crooned at me.

Red hot, painful jealousy tore through me, and I felt my hands clenching into fists. It was an irrational response, she was _not_ mine, and never would be. If she wanted Cassian, or Azriel, or hell even Amren, it was her choice to ask them – and if they accepted, I had no right to say or do anything in anger towards any of them. The jealousy still tore at me though, clawing up my insides until I was raw.

“If you survive the test,” I said more harshly than I intended.

She climbed onto a stone, standing nearly eye level with me and met my gaze, seeing the emotion burning inside of me but I knew with certainty that she didn’t understand it.

That was both a relief and almost as frustrating as the jealousy.

“You seem pleased by the idea that I won’t.”

I prowled closer to her, trying to keep my breathing even, “Quite the opposite, Feyre.”

 _Protect, protect, protect_ – the Mating bond thrummed inside of me, but my heart held it back with a single thought; trust.

I managed a wry smile, “I’ll let Cassian know you’re… open to his advances.”

She tilted her chin up in rebellion and replied, almost haughtily, “Good.”

She began to turn, to jump off of the stone, but I reached up, faster than she expected, and gripped her chin lightly. Staring deep into her eyes, falling into them, I asked her softly, “Did you enjoy the sight of me kneeling before you?”

She smirked at me and yanked her chin out of my grip, leaping off of the stone and aiming for my feet – the minx. I stepped back out of range, and nearly laughed at her next words, were it not for the near breathless way she said them.

“Isn’t that all you males are good for, anyway?”

Something about her words, they reminded me of the Night Court palace, of the shimmering moonstone it was built out of, cool silk sheets, of jasmine and sweet darkness… of seduction.

I wasn’t sure how or why, or even what for that matter, but something had just shifted between us – we were dancing across new, and unfamiliar ground, and I felt electricity spark between us.

I smiled at her, slow and wicked.

The emotions washing across her face were seductive in their own way – anger, annoyance, hope, desire…

She settled on annoyance, “Nice try.” Her voice was hoarse however and it sent a shiver down my spine.

I smirked and shrugged, and swaggered off into the forest, continuing to lead her.

I felt her behind me, felt her through the bond, her annoyance growing into a need to attack, felt her body tensing as though preparing to leap at me, and I wanted to grin and let her – it would be fun to see how a little tumble with her would end up…

But we had arrived, and I quickly raised a hand, signaling her to stop.

We stood at the edge of a clearing, hidden behind several large ferns, but just over the top of them a small, whitewashed cottage with a thatched roof and half-crumbling chimney was visible. It was so… normal. It didn’t fit with this ancient, silent forest, but it also portrayed a feeling of quiet peace, until you studied it closer. Underneath the welcoming image there was a thread of danger, of violence, and death – but you had to really pay attention to feel it.

Feyre walked up to stand beside me, staring at the quiet scene.

Listening closely, through the silence of the forest that seemed to press in on us, we could hear faintly the melodic singing of a woman’s voice.

Feyre glanced at me, and my heart was in my throat with fear and hope and I could show her none of that.

I _knew_ she could do this, and yet I feared for my Mate.

Plastering a teasing grin on my face, I inclined my head towards the cottage, and then bowed to her dramatically.

Standing, I mouthed to her, _good luck._

She grimaced at me, then made a rude gesture before turning and beginning her quiet approach of the cottage. Her knees were bent in a slight crotch, her torso leaned forward, and arms extended to balance herself – cautious and careful, and so very beautiful.

Swallowing quietly, I watched her from this spot until she reached the small stone well out front of the cottage – keeping my face smooth with an edge of a taunt, just in case she looked back. She never did – she was a huntress and she was on the prowl, and the sight of her thrilled me. 

Once she began to advance on the door of the cottage I backed away from the clearing several feet, then circled around to the side of the cottage purely out of caution. It was possible the Weaver could sense me, and if she felt me nearby, she might go on the hunt herself – and Feyre would be easy prey for her to find. I would not doom her before she had a chance to even try.

Wanting to focus all of my attention on Feyre and the Weaver, I chose to take the high ground so that I could focus less on the area directly around me for danger. Finding a tall, solid looking tree, I climbed my way up it several feet until I reached a solid branch able to bear my weight, and settled on it, leaning back against the trunk and crossing my arms. Closing my eyes, I summoned my darkness, and extended tendrils of it out, bare wisps of power that I sent dancing along the forest floor and crawling over the ancient trees – working from shadow to shadow until they reached the edge of the clearing.

I couldn’t send the darkness along the same path that Feyre had taken to approach the cottage, the area was too open with no shadows to hide among. I had to circle around until I found a tree with a branch that overhung near the roof of the cottage, running my darkness along it and hovering there. I could not see either of them, and I would not dare risk sending my darkness inside the cottage itself, getting this close was a risk, but I would not let her do this entirely alone.

Her mental shield was solid adamant, she leaked not a single thought, but through the bond I could sense the flavor of her thoughts. I felt her demeanor shift. 

_She was not afraid._

_She was not prey._

_She was a_ wolf.

My breathing hitched. _Oh Feyre, my Feyre…_

This was the woman who broke the bones in the pit of the Middengard Wyrm for a trap, who tracked it and lured it, who, even with her arm snapped, hurled a bone at Amarantha in defiance. 

This was a woman who could conquer worlds.

Breathing deeply, I focused closer on the cottage and I could hear singing, an old song – one I had not heard in centuries, likely due to the gruesome nature of it.

_“There were two sisters, they went playing,_

_To see their father’s ships come sailing…_

_And when they came unto the sea-brim_

_The elder did push the younger in.”_

My shadows danced and swirled among the shadows, listening for Feyre’s movements, trying to sense her thoughts, her actions. 

“ _Sometimes she sank, and sometimes she swam,_

_‘Til her corpse came to the miller’s damn.”_

I sensed the pressure shift in the house, just barely, and guessed Feyre had opened the door to enter – though there was no sound of her movement.

_“But what did he do with her breastbone?_

_He made him a viol to play on._

_What’d he do with her fingers so small?_

_He made pegs to his viol withall.”_

I could hear the steady rhythm of a spinning wheel, the gentle tap of a foot on the peddle and the whirl of the wheel as it spun.

_Wolf. Wolf. Wolf._

The bond thrummed with her feelings, and there was no fear wrapped around them, just growing determination.

“ _And what did he do with her nose-ridge?_

_Unto his viol he made a bridge._

_What did he do with her veins so blue?_

_He made strings to his viol thereto.”_

I waited, running my mental claws lightly over the bond, caressing it, waiting for a hint that the speck of power that had been mine had awoken inside of her. She had summoned darkness once before when Tamlin had locked her in the house, she had surrounded herself in it, but she had never purposefully summoned any of her powers. It had always been in response to an outside influence – defensive instead of offensive. This time she needed to summon it herself and call out with it until she could feel the return echo.

Minutes passed. It felt like eternity, and my gut twisted in fearful anticipation while I waited and waited… and waited.

Then… _there_.

I felt her call it up, summoning the darkness inside of her, and I felt that part that had once been mine swirl up inside of her – wild, and untamed, but swirling and dancing inside of her. I felt it _reach_ and then… a jolt, like a spark of electricity.

She found it. I could sense it; she knew where it was.

My heart pounded in my chest, hard and fast.

 _Come on Feyre_ , I thought to myself, _get it and run._

_“What did he do with her eyes so bright?_

_On his viol he set at first light._

_What did he do with her tongue so rough?_

_‘Twas the new till and it spoke enough.”_

I could feel her, she was the huntress, the wolf, and she was tracking her prey. All of her senses were focused, so focused on the spark that drew her, the tiny flare of darkness that echoed the darkness inside of her. 

 _You can do this_ , I willed down the bond, not in actual words, but quiet, whispered emotion. I had absolute faith in her, I _knew_ she could do this. I believed.

“ _Then bespoke the treble string,_

_‘O yonder is my father the king._

_Then bespoke the second string,_

_‘O yonder sits my mother, the queen.”_

Suddenly the bond between us went taut in panic, washing over me, hot and wet… blood. No, there wasn’t blood… but I could feel it, on my hands, sticky, dripping…

Something had sparked a memory, and I knew which one, and she was panicking, she was shattering… and then it stopped. She shut it down, the memory at least, but the wet, sticky feeling of blood remained on my hands. 

Pride. Pride and awe flashed through me – she did it, she conquered her mind, her memories. She faced them down. My beautiful, brilliant Feyre.

“ _Then bespoke the strings all three,_

_‘Yonder is my sister that drowned me.’ “_

A jolt hit me, and I knew she had grabbed the ring, could feel the caress of it brushing against the darkness inside of her like a lover.

Then time… stopped. I could feel it, the shift, the change in the air – it coated my tongue with a faintly metallic taste.

The Weaver stopped singing.

I tensed, hands clenching into fists and began to lean forward, the darkness inside of me growing thick and heavy as it swirled through my body, coursed through my veins.

_Get out Feyre!_

The spinning wheel began to slow, the cycles growing longer and longer…

 _CLICK_  

I felt the door shut, felt the sudden surge of panic inside of Feyre.

_TRAPPEDTRAPPETRAPPED_

Then I felt her push the panic to the side, it was still there, slamming against her, but she held it back by inches.

I swirled the darkness around myself, ready to winnow to her, to grab her and run… when I felt it. I felt the bubble around the house, it must have sprung up when the door shut. I ran tendrils of my darkness over it, feeling it, tasting it… I… couldn’t winnow to her. Not without breaking the shield around the house and the feeling of it, the power being fed into it…

I wasn’t sure I could break it. _Oh gods…_

“Who is in my house?” I heard the Weaver ask.

I could feel Feyre’s fear, the same fear she had felt with the Bone Carver, the fear she had been denying herself, it now slammed into her right beside the panic.

I opened my eyes, and stood up, ready to winnow outside of the cottage and explode my way in if I had to, I’d spend every ounce of my power to get her out.

And then I felt it… I felt her. I felt the will to live _explode_ inside of her. The will to fight, to claw to kick to keep breathing – it latched onto the fear and panic, drank them in deep, but did not let them overwhelm her. I felt her twist those feelings and let them guide her, direct her, enhance her sight and sound and smell. 

“What are you?” The weaver asked, her voice young and curious.

_I do not want to die._

I heard the thought as it radiated down the bond, powerful and sweet and so, so beautiful.

“What is like all,” the Weaver mused, “but unlike all?”

_Wolf._

I felt her become the wolf, she did not tell herself she was one, she _became_ it, the predator.

Suddenly there was an unearthly shriek of anger that threatened to send my darkness scattering from the cottage, but I held it in place among the shadows, trying to understand what had happened – what Feyre had done.

I tasted it then, my darkness scented it… fire. Fire and burning fiber… hair. The scent of burning hair. I wanted to gag.

_Feyre Feyre Feyre_

Where was she? Had she set the fire? Where was the Weaver?

My own panic roiled within me, my fear beating in time with my heart.

Where was she!

“What little mouse is climbing about in my chimney?”

_The chimney?_

My darkness swirled around the roof the house, dancing among the tree limbs that hung over it, bumping and gliding over the shield that denied me access to her. I focused on the Chimney, aged and crumbling, and slid my darkness into the chute to look and there… Feyre.

She was climbing _out_ through the chimney!

_You can do this, keep going!_

Twisting my shadows into a lance, a spear, I prepared to strike at the shield right above her, because if I could break the shield just enough to touch her… I could get her out, I _would_ get her out.

The panic hit her again, like before with the blood, she was trapped, and I could smell the mud of the Middengard Wyrm through the bond… I could hear her breathing go short and fast, struggling to fill her lungs…

“Did you think you could steal and flee, thief?” The Weaver taunted her.

_Stop._

The word exploded through her, down the bond, it was tinged with power. It was edged with primal command. I knew that power, that command… I knew it because I had it, I could speak in that same way. I had done it to her, when she had been trapped in a nightmare – commanding her to wake. The voice, the command of a High Lord.

Pure, unadulterated awe flooded through me. _Feyre_.

She had the power of all seven High Lords. She had the will to contain and control that power.

She could be a High Lady. 

I felt myself trembling… If only... No, maybe... My thoughts were a jumble, but I forced myself to keep focus on the spot directly above the chimney, my darkness ready to slam against the shield in order that I might grab her. 

I heard the sound of pounding, I felt the air tremble as she slammed her fist into the chimney, over and over…

A crunching sound, then a roar of pain.

The scent of blood, faint but unmistakable.

I saw her hands stretch up, dirty, smudged with ash and shiny with grease… saw her grab the lip of the chimney and haul herself up, her face set in determination, gritting her teeth against the pain and the strain of her actions. She tumbled out onto the roof and rolled to her feet, her eyes which were cold steel, examined her options.

The front door banged open, followed by an enraged shriek.

Feyre turned, and instead of dropping to the ground to flee, she ran across the roof and _leaped_ , arms outstretched, and grabbed the branch my darkness swirled around. She hauled herself up along it, running down it as sure-footed as a squirrel.

 _“WHERE ARE YOU?”_ The Weaver screamed as she stumbled around outside of her cottage.

Feyre did not stop, she did not hesitate, she did not look back. She ran and jumped and hauled herself branch after branch – and she was running right for me, as though I had summoned her, as though she instinctively knew where I was. 

I leaned back and nearly laughed in amazement, opening my eyes to watch the spot I knew she would be coming from.

She appeared before me, dirty and bleeding, covered in grease and… hair? She had never looked more radiant.

And pissed.

 _“You,”_ she hissed at me.

And behind both of us, at the cottage, the Weaver as still screaming. I raised a finger to cover my mouth, urging her to silence, and quickly walked along the branch, wrapping my arms around her. Summoning my darkness back and wrapping it around us I winnowed us to Velaris. To the open air above the House of Wind, where we began to free fall.

I expected her to scream, but she didn’t make a sound, as though she had no breath to spare for such things.

Releasing the darkness that I used to contain my wings, I allowed them to unfurl behind me and spread them wide. Gliding us down in a lazy circle, I aimed for the large, open window that led to the war room, swinging us inside and into the middle of an argument between Cassian and Amren.

They both froze when they saw us land, staring with shock.

I lowered Feyre’s legs to the ground and steadied her as she stood. There was a mirror behind us, and I saw her stare into it with horror.

“You smell like barbecue,” Amren said, cringing with disgust.

Cassian relaxed the hand he had wrapped around the dagger at his thigh.

She was panting hard, and shaking in my arms, her eyes wide and pupils completely dilated.

Cassian was just staring at her hard, examining her minutely. “You kill her?” He finally asked.

I kept my eyes on Feyre, folding my wings behind me tightly, and shook my head. “No… but given how much the Weaver was screaming, I’m dying to know what Feyre darling did.”

I felt the disgust in her growing, and suddenly she spun and leaned over and began to vomit. I reached for her, steadying her and pulling her braid out of the way.

Cassian swore and took a step towards us, though it was obvious he was unsure how to help.

Amren simply waited until Feyre was finished, and waved a hand, instantly cleaning the vomit from the ground and removing the mess covering Feyre. She would still need to bathe, the essence of the dirt and grim remained on her skin, but at least the sight and scent of the grease and hair and soot was gone.

Panting still, she managed to stand up straight again, only to slump against the large black table that Cassian and Amren were standing around, covered with maps and lists. I let her go, and took a step back, giving her room to breathe.

“She… detected me somehow,” she said with exhaustion. “And locked the doors and windows. So I had to climb out through the chimney. I got stuck,” she admitted, “and when she tried to climb up, I threw a brick at her face.”

Cassian’s brows rose and I could tell her was impressed at the ingenuity.

Amren looked at me, one brow arched, “And where were you?”

I met her gaze, calmer than I actually felt. “Waiting, far enough away that she couldn’t detect me.”

Feyre snarled at me viciously, “I could have used some help.”

I looked at her, pride and terror and self-hatred pumping through me… but she had done it, she had gone in, used her powers, faced down her fears, re-awakened her will to live, and _escaped_. All without any help from me.

“You survived,” I told her quietly. “And found a way to help yourself.”

She glared at me, and in that moment, we shared a silent conversation. She realized part of the reason I had set her on this task – not just to see if she could detect the ring, but to remind her of her resourcefulness. To show her that she was strong enough to fight back her fears, to come up with a plan, and execute it by herself. To remind her that she could stand on her own.

And it pissed her off – even as she understood why I had done it. I could understand her anger – because I hated myself for having done it to her.

“That’s what this was about,” she spat at me. “Not just this _stupid ring,_ ” she grabbed the ring out of her pocket and slammed it down on to the table, and my heart skipped a bit, “or my _abilities,_ but to see if I can master my panic.”

“Son of a bitch…” Cassian muttered, his eyes locked onto the ring that neither of us had seen in centuries.

Amren smirked a little and shook her head, “Brutal, but effective.”

I kept my eyes on Feyre, I was so proud of her that it hurt. “Now you know. That you can use your abilities to hunt out objects, and thus track the Book at the Summer Court, _and_ master yourself.”

She was glaring at me with such fury, I was surprised I didn’t burst into flames.

“You’re a prick, Rhysand,” Cassian said to me, eyeing me with a touch of accusation.

I arched a brow at him, shifting my wings behind me, “You’d do the same.”

He stared, considering, then shrugging with agreement – yea, he would.

Feyre looked down at her hands, her nails cracked and bloody, and I winced internally at the sight – it wasn’t a serious injury, but I hated the sight of her injured.

But then she looked up at Cassian, that cold, tempered steel was back in her eyes, and said quietly, “I want you to teach me – how to fight. To get strong. If the offer to train still stands."

Once again Cassian’s brows rose in surprise, “You’ll be calling _me_ a prick pretty damn fast if we train.” He looked her over, appraising her, “And I don’t know anything about training humans – how breakable your bodies are. Were, I mean,” he winced, then shrugged with a vague grin, “We’ll figure it out.”

She lifted her chin slightly, determined, “I don’t want my only option to be running.”

Amren smirked slightly as she cut in to remind Feyre, “Running kept you alive today.”

Feyre seemed to ignore her as she said, “I want to know how to fight my way out. I don’t want to have to wait on anyone to rescue me.”

I winced a little at that, even as I was proud of her decision.

She turned to look at me, crossing her arms, “Well? Have I proved myself?”

I stared at her a moment, then stepped over and picked up the ring, giving her a single nod. 

“It was my mother’s ring,” I explained simply.

She glared at me a little, “How’d you lose it?”

Cassian and Amren remained quiet, watching us closely.

“I didn’t.” I met her gaze, wishing I could tell her, wishing I could kneel before her and offer her the ring, offer her myself, offer her everything… but I knew she would accept none of it. “My mother gave it to me as a keepsake, then took it back when I reached maturity – and gave it to the Weaver for safekeeping.”

Feyre stared at me, “Why?”

 _For you._ I wanted to tell her. _For you to claim._  

“So I wouldn’t waste it,” I said instead.

She looked at me incredulously for several minutes, before the look on her face changed, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. 

What she had done today, the ways she had pushed herself – she had burnt through all of the reserves of energy she still had, and I could see her body begin to sag. Sliding the ring into an inner pocket, I stepped forward, and without a word, lifted her into my arms. Walking to the window, I lept out of it, holding her tightly, letting us free fall until I felt that we had passed beyond the wards, and then winnowed to her bedroom.

Before we had even fully arrived in her room I reached out with my power and twisted the handle on her tub so that it began to fill with hot water. Settling on the warm wood floors, I lowered her legs to the ground and held her while she found her balance.

She turned towards the bathroom and staggered to it, and I released my hold on her, but watching her closely in case she began to topple. I should have left, given her privacy, but… I wasn’t ready to let go of her yet, and I could swear that the ring in my pocket was as heavy as a mountain and burning a hole through my shirt against my skin.

I took a step forward and asked her, “And what about training your other… gifts?”

Having reached the tub she turned and looked at me, the steam from the water beginning to swirl around her. “I think you and I would shred each other to bits.”

I walked forward to lean against the threshold to the bathroom and grinned mischievously. “Oh we most definitely will, but it wouldn’t be fun otherwise. Consider _our_ training now officially part of your work requirements with me.” I jerked my chin at her, “Go ahead – try to get past my shields.”

She scowled at me, “I’m tired. The bath will go cold.” 

I smirked playfully, “I promise it’ll be just as hot in a few moments. Or, if you mastered your gifts, you might be able to take care of that yourself.”

She frowned at me, but then took a step towards me, then another, and I backed up a few paces into the bedroom as I watched anger flash into her eyes. How could it be that anger could be so beautiful?

I held her gaze regardless, whispering to her, “You feel it, don’t you?” I wanted to reach out and touch her, my fingers tingled with the desire. “Your power, stalking under your skin, purring in your ear.”

“So what if I do?”

She was so stubborn. Fine. Another lure then – her choice to take it, always her choice.

I shrugged, “I’m surprised Ianthe didn’t carve you up on an altar to see what that power looks like inside you.” 

She frowned at me, “What, precisely, is your issue with her?”

I crossed my arms over my chest, “I find the High Priestesses to be a perversion of what they once were – once promised to be. Ianthe among the worst of them.”

Her brows tightened in concern, “Why do you say that?”

I smirked at her, taunting her further, “Get past my shields and I’ll _show_ you.”

I saw the flicker in her eyes – this time she knew it for wait it was – a lure.

She held my gaze, and I felt her delicate touch as she examined the bond between us, saw her peer across the distance to examine my mental shield. Then I felt her withdraw and nearly gritted my teeth.

“I’ve had enough tests for the day.”

Dropping my arms, I crossed the space between us until we were almost touching, feeling the warmth of her body brush over the front of me.

“The High Priestesses have burrowed into a few of the courts – Dawn, Day, and Winter mostly. They’ve entrenched themselves so thoroughly that their spies are everywhere, their followers near-fanatic with devotion. And yet, during those fifty years, they escaped. They remained hidden. I would not be surprised if Ianthe sought to establish a foothold in the Spring Court.”

A dark look flashed across her face and she frowned at me, “You mean to tell me they’re all black-hearted villains?”

I smiled grimly, “No. Some, yes. Some are compassionate and selfless and wise. But there are some who are merely self-righteous… Though those are the ones that always seem the most dangerous to me.”

“And Ianthe.” 

I grinned at her, and there is was, the final lure, to draw her in.

 _Come on,_ I thought, _play with me, Feyre._

Suddenly she _lunged_ for me, slashing her power down the bond at me, and yelped sharply as it hit and echoed back down the line towards hers.

I chuckled, and saw her eyes glow with fiery rage, and teased her, “Admirable – sloppy, but an admirable effort.”

She glared at me, hot and angry and beautiful. Radiant.

I surrendered.

“Just for trying…” I reached out, taking her hand gently in mind.

She was still there, stretched out against the bond, still rubbing against my shield with frustration, as though looking for a hole or a chink. There wasn’t one, she would never find it – unless I made one, that is. I was very, very good at defending myself, of holing myself up in my mind. However, the feel of her, brushing against my shield… I had touched her mind many times, and felt along her shield with my claws, but she had not reached out to mine before. It was sensual, and alluring… addictive. I wanted to drop my shield entirely and take her in to me, let her sink in to me, in a way I had _never_ let anyone else do.

I couldn’t though, even though my soul cried out for me to do so – there were things I could not let her know.

Instead, I built a room for her, an antechamber, and cracked the door open, letting her slide in… and then sealed it behind her, trapping her.

_The bedroom was dark, carved from obsidian, and glimmered in the dim light from candles placed on nearly every flat surface. The bed in the center was enormous, and covered in silky, ebony sheets._

_{The stone of the room was not obsidian black, but pale gray, and the sheets on the bed were not black, but blood red.}_

I showed her the memory of Ianthe but running parallel to them were images similar to my time Under the Mountain. Under Amarantha. I didn’t let Feyre see those, but I could not avoid them, could not avoid the taint of them.

_Sprawled across it, naked and shameless, lay Ianthe._

_{Stretched across the bed was Amarantha, naked, and smirking at me with cruel desire.}_

I felt her pull back, felt her press against the wall of the room she was trapped in, trying to escape and unable to do so – the panic that grew in her. _Trapped._ I didn’t let her out though. This was to be a lesson – in more ways than one. And it would be a lesson that hurt _me_ , and I would sacrifice my soul to teach her, and she would never know the cost.

I brushed my thoughts across her mind, whispering to her, _There is more._ And fed her more of the memory, dark and tinged with pain. 

_Ianthe pouted at me, “You kept me waiting.”_

_{“Take off your clothes Rhysand, you’ve kept me waiting too long. I’ll have to punish you.” She purred at me.}_

_I stood against the door to my bedroom, I could feel the hard edges of it digging into my back as I glared at her, angry at her invasion, “Get out.”_

_She shifted on the bed, sliding a knee up and spreading her legs, exposing herself to me, and all I could feel was disgust._

_{I removed my clothes, having no other choice, and as she crooked a finger at me, I crossed the room to stand beside the bed. She shifted, sitting up and sliding to the edge of the bed, her legs parted on either side of mine.}_

_“I see the way you look at me, High Lord."_

_I wanted her out,_ now. _I wanted her out of my bed chamber, out of my castle, out of my lands. Hell, I wanted this bitch out of my world. The way she had behaved since she had arrived, the way she slithered among my court, using our faith as currency in a bid for control… it was disgusting._

_“You see what you want to see,” I said quietly, and gestured, my bedroom door opening. “Get out.”_

_{“Show me that wicked tongue of yours, Rhysand,” she purred. I knelt between her legs and gave her everything she wanted – and so much more. I used my tongue on her, attacking her with it, with the rage that burned inside of me. I made her scream her release, and felt her hands tearing at my hair, pulling me closer, holding me prisoner against her. I hated myself, I burned with such shame.}_

_She simpered at me, “I heard you like to play games…” She slid one pale hand up, tracing her fingers over the smooth planes of her stomach, tracing the curve of her belly button. My stomach twisted, and I felt bile in my throat. “I think you’ll find me a diverting playmate.”_

_Rage. It flooded through me, hot and heavy, and I contemplated slamming my power into her, through her, splattering her across my walls. It would be an inconvenience to kill her, but the world would be well rid of her. Hell, her behavior around my friends was more than enough reason to kill her. Azriel had left the court last night after how she had stalked him, and Mor was close to snapping her neck because of it._

_My hands were clenched into fists while I tried to restrain from killing her. “I thought your allegiance lay with other courts.”_

_{Her grip on my hair tightened, until my scalp screamed in pain. She pulled me onto the bed with her, shoving me, forcing me onto my back. My body betrayed me, again, and she grinned wickedly at the sight of my erection.}_

_Her lids lowered and she purred at me, “My allegiance lies with the future of Prythian, with the true power in this land.”_

_I watched her fingers slide between her legs, and my darkness exploded outwards, wrapping around her arm and_ slamming _it down against the bed, away from her body – I just barely restrained from breaking it._

_She gasped and pouted again, “Do you know what a union between us could do for Prythian, for the world?” Her gaze devoured me, as though I was a piece of meat for her to swallow whole._

_{I watched as she climbed on top of me, straddling me, and took me into her – hard and fast – and delighted when it hurt me.}_

_“You mean yourself,” I said coldly._

_She arched her back slightly, displaying her breasts, “Our offspring could rule Prythian.”_

_Ice flashed through my veins… she was insane._

_“So you want my crown – and for me to play stud?”_

_{She reached up with one hand and wrapped it around my throat, pinning me against the bed with her enhanced strength, trapping me beneath her. I struggled to breathe, tears welling in my eyes as my lungs burned, and knew that if I tried to fight her, she would do so much worse.}_

_A playful grin, “I don’t see anyone else worthy of the position.”_

Kill her, _my mind chanted,_ she is a threat. _Not just to my court, but to all of Prythian. Face the wrath of the High Priestesses now, or possibly doom Prythian later… Faith was a dangerous beast to play with, she plucked the strings of passion and fervor for far too many people, her death could start an all-out rebellion among my subjects, not just the High Priestesses…_

_Exhaling slowly I said coldly, “Get out of my bed. Get out of my room. And get out of my court.”_

_{She elongated the nails on her other hand, nearly talons now, and dragged them across my chest, scoring my flesh, making me gasp and cry out in pain, marking me as hers.}_

_I released my grip on her arm and stood aside from the open door beside me._

_She slid out of my bed, her eyes darkening with pleasure at the hunt – and I realized that she liked that I was resisting her – that she enjoyed forcing herself on people, using her body and her position to control others._

_She crossed the room, ignoring her clothes draped over my favorite chair, and walked towards me, her breasts bobbing with each step – and each step closer she got to me, the more I wanted to hurl._

_{She rode me, and used me and took from me my pride, my self-worth, and left me with nothing but shame and disgust – and the worst of it was that my body betrayed me, every time, and she knew it and delighted in it.}_

_“You have no idea what I can make you feel, High Lord,” she purred to me, reaching out a hand to caress between my legs…_

_White hot rage tore from me, and my darkness wrapped around her hand, her wrist, her arm, and_ crunched _down tightly, twisting sharply. Ianthe screamed, and tried to pull away – I didn’t let her go, I tightened my grip around her, cruel and unforgiving. She liked to force herself on people – I would force my darkness on her, I would_ break _her, even if it was just a small part of her. Leaning in close to her, but careful not to touch her – I did not want any part of her brushing against me._

 _“Don’t_ ever _touch me. Don’t ever touch another male in my court.” I twisted my darkness again, snapping tendons and bones, and smirked as she screamed again, tears running down her face. “Your hand will heal,” I purred at her cruelly. “The next time you touch me or anyone in my lands, you will find that the rest of you will not fare so well.”_

_{And I gave her all of it, sacrificed my body to her, pleased her, satisfied her, made her crave me – and she would keep me with her, hour after hour.}_

_She looked at me with such violent hatred and hissed, like the viper she was, “You will regret this.”_

_I laughed, amused, and with a flick of my power I_ threw _her out of my room and into the hallway naked, another flick sent her clothes flying out behind her. Then I slammed the door shut hard and locked it for good measure._

_{And when she was done with me, my body covered with the scent of her, marked and drained, and I would dress, and walk through the halls and the other fae would look at me with such disgust and hatred. Yet they could not possibly hate me more than I hated myself.}_

And with a gentle clip, like scissors cutting a ribbon, I severed the memory from Feyre, and cracked open the room in my mind, allowing her to escape – which she did with a gasp, stumbling backwards from me both mentally and physically.

I held my emotions tightly in check, and my face blank, while my stomach twisted, and I could taste bile on my tongue. 

“Rule one,” I told her quietly, trying to swallow down the need to retch, “don’t go into someone’s mind unless you hold the way open. A daemati might leave their minds spread wide for you – and then shut you inside, turn you into their willing slave.”

As Amarantha had done to me – though not by controlling my mind, simply by being a threat to my family, to those I loved. I became her willing slave, and were the same to happen again, I would sacrifice myself once more.

“Rule two,” I continued, my voice becoming harsh with the emotions that roiled through me, “when-“ 

She interrupted me, her eyes wide with shock, “When was that? When did that happen between you?” 

I stared into her eyes and saw the confusion as she struggled to come to terms with a truth she had not expected.

“A hundred years ago. At the Court of Nightmares. I allowed her to visit after she’d begged for years, insisting she wanted to build ties between the Night Court and the priestesses.” I let out a slow breath, “I’d heard rumors about her nature, but she was young and untried, and I hoped that perhaps a new High Priestess might indeed be the change her order needed. It turned out that she was already well trained by some of her less-benevolent sisters.”

I watched her process that and swallow before she said, “She – she didn’t act that way at…” And then trailed off as though something she had seen but not processed became apparent to her. Disgust and horror warred on her face, and her skin tinged almost green, as though she was sick to her stomach.

“Rule two,” I continued again, “be prepared to see things you might not like.”

Suddenly the look in Feyre’s eyes shifted, and it was as though she saw me for the first time. As though she realized this memory of Ianthe was not all the dissimilar to Amarantha, and while I had been able to stop Ianthe, I had willingly submitted to Amarantha in order to save those I loved.

And the look in her eyes… the sympathy that melted her normally critical gaze of me.

I couldn’t tolerate it. Any other day I would have rejoiced to see her look at me with something other than hatred, or annoyance, or frustration.

The sympathy in her gaze threatened to break me, I could feel my mind shattering, I could feel the tears building - any longer and I would crumple before her.

She opened her mouth to ask me another question, and I… I just couldn’t.

I took a step back, wrapped myself in darkness, and winnowed away. Far, far away.

\- - - ~*~ - - -

I arrived in the Night Court, at the palace on top of the mountain, in my bed chamber – it was not where I wanted to be, but I knew it would be empty – and I would _never_ let my family see me like this. I held myself together long enough to throw a shield up around myself, hiding me from sight and sound, before I staggered to the toilet and retched up the contents of my stomach.

Which was not much – I had not eaten in over a day.

When I finished, I was damp with sweat and shaking, finally collapsing against the cold moonstone floor to lean back against the nearby wall. The memories ran through my mind, colliding and battering against me, and my emotions… Tears burned in my eyes, hot and stinging, but I held them at bay – I would not cry. Could not cry.

Logically I knew what Amarantha had done to me was rape, and yet there was an insidious voice that whispered to me, _you let her do it._

And because of that, I could not let go of the disgust and the shame that twisted inside of me.

Closing my eyes, I rested the back of my head against the wall, and focused on my breathing, my stomach still knotted up.

The truth was, I honestly did _not_ care if anyone else understood the choices I made, I did not care if anyone else believed that it had been forced and not consensual, I did not care if they believed I was Amarantha’s whore. I made my choices for my family, and my people, and I would make them again a thousand times over – I did not care what they thought.

I did care what Feyre thought however. The night on the roof, when I explained the choice I made, that had been the first time that she looked at me with understanding, as though she finally believed me when I told her that my decisions had been made, not out of cruelty or selfishness, but truly for the people that I loved.

The look in her eyes had redeemed something in me. 

But just now, sharing the memory of Ianthe with her, and reliving one of Amarantha, and the sympathy that had shown in her eyes for me...

I never expected to see that from her. I had hoped for understanding and had received that – and it would have been enough. Sympathy though… revealed the lie of my disgust and shame – it demanded they bow before the truth. 

I was not to blame.

I was… I was not to blame.

My heart constricted tightly.

Oh Feyre… She was, truly, my salvation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This endeavor is my first ever fanfiction attempt, and it has been a blast to play with so far.
> 
> I would love to see your comments about what I'm writing!
> 
> So please hit me up with what you think! - Otter


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